


Rafraîchir

by ElloPoppet



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal - Fandom
Genre: Aliases, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bloodplay, Blow Jobs, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Empath Will Graham, Feels, First Time, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, Hannibal is a Cannibal, Kid Fic, Kidnapping, Killer Will, M/M, Murder Family, Murder Husbands, On the Run, POV Alternating, Post-Series, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smut, Team Sassy Science, Will is a Cannibal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 24
Words: 60,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5566003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElloPoppet/pseuds/ElloPoppet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal and Will attempt to navigate life on the run after surviving the fall. Hannibal continues to groom Will into his ideal Murder Husband, only now, Will is an aware and willing participant. </p><p>In which Will unleashes his monster and accepts his destiny by Hannibal's side, the boys run away to build a life together, and Jack Crawford becomes their hunter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Sting of Salt

The saltiness of the water stung as it traveled down his windpipe and into his lungs in huge gulps. He focused on the harsh sting without meaning to; it seemed his body had decided that it was better to focus on the intensity of the saltiness versus the pure frigidness that had surrounded him in all directions. It was a cold that he could not compare to any other experience, no matter how he tried. Sure, he had spent his fair share of time wading into chilly streams to fish, but that had included a calculated desire to be in those waters. He felt surprised to find himself in the Atlantic, though a faint thought shimmered in his mind reminding him that he had, in fact, decided to tumble into the ocean. It had been a split second decision, yes, but a firm decision all the same. 

When Will opened his eyes, he was privy to all of the secrets of the ocean. There was darkness, and there were sea monsters, coming from all sides to devour him. Their teeth glinted razor sharp and their antlers were stained with red. Despite the horror that he could see unfolding in front of him, he did not feel true terror until he glimpsed the Ripper amongst the monsters, gnashing his teeth and quickly closing in. Will watched as the Ripper opened his mouth, revealing rows and rows of fangs, and began repeating his name with growing intensity. 

“...Will….Will….WILLIAM.” 

Will woke with a sharp gasp and sucked in such a large amount of air that his lungs ballooned and threatened to tear. His sudden shock back into consciousness was muddled with confusion, as he found that he was still surrounded by darkness, struggling to breath and was dripping wet, as he had been in his dream. Also the same was the presence of Hannibal near him and approaching him quickly. The similar circumstances of his abrupt reality to his night terrors only extrapolated his fear, causing him to thrash about until he landed with a thud onto the bedroom floor. It was the pain that exploded throughout the right side of his upper body when he hit the hardwood that finally, graciously, grounded him to the present. 

“You’re awake, Will. You’re safe. Listen to the sound of my voice. Focus on the sound and the sound only. Let it bring you back to the room. Yes, good. Slow breaths, you’re going to choke yourself if you continue on such as you are.” Hannibal’s voice filled the room as Will completed his given directive and focused on the accented words. When he found that he could open his eyes without the room spinning, he did so, and found that Hannibal’s face filled his vision. The man was crouching in front of him in his silk blue pajamas, his hands outstretched as though he was ready to catch Will should he fall forward. The seconds ticked by as Will focused on taking steady and complete breaths. Inhale, hold, exhale. Just as the Doctor had taught him to do years ago, back when Will trusted his advice and psychiatric expertise. 

“May I look?” Hannibal asked quietly, motioning towards the spot of blood that had started to develop on his drenched t-shirt. Will cursed out loud.

“Again. Jesus Christ, how do I keep managing to do this?” 

Hannibal apparently took this as permission to treat the patient in front of him, as he reached to the hem of Will’s white shirt and swiftly but gently lifted it over his sweat drenched curls. Will angled his head awkwardly to observe as Hannibal reached out and gingerly plucked a loose-hanging stitch from the flesh covering Will’s right pectoral muscle. It was the third time he had reopened the nearly healed wound in the last week, when the first set of stitches had been put into place by an unsteady Hannibal. The two of them had done their best to assist each other with their injuries and the after care, but the honest truth was that Will was certainly not trained in the art of packing or suturing deep impact wounds, and Hannibal’s through and through gunshot wounds at the side of his abdomen had impeded his own abilities as well. Not to mention the concussions and neck soreness caused by their flight into the ocean. Had it not been for Hannibal’s stash of antibiotics and other medical supplies, they would likely both be battling infection. At one point, Hannibal had made an almost-joke regarding the helpful disinfecting properties of the saltwater in the ocean and how it had aided in the recovery of their injuries sustained by the Red Dragon. Will had not laughed at Hannibal’s attempt at humor. 

“It is the nightmares, Will. You can hardly blame yourself for your body’s panic response when you are asleep. Fortunately, it is only one stitch this time and you have already stopped bleeding. I believe you will be just fine without it, but I would suggest a cleaning.” Hannibal’s voice snapped Will back to attention and he managed a nod. Hannibal transitioned from his crouching position to standing, wincing only slightly with discomfort. Will knew that the entry and exit sites of his bullet wounds were healing nicely, as he had assisted Hannibal in wrapping his torso with cling wrap prior to Hannibal showering the day before. Will had felt pleased with the hand that he had played in treating and healing the injury, though he had been guided every step of the way by a very agitated and understandably impatient Lecter. 

Once he felt steady enough to stand, Will rolled awkwardly to put his pressure on his left arm to assist in getting into an upright position. He blatantly ignored Hannibal’s outstretched hand, regardless of how his help would have eased the process. Distracted by his own soreness, Will did not witness the fleeting look of disappointment on the Doctor’s face, which he quickly replaced with his usual stoic mask as soon as Will was standing and preparing to retreat from the bedroom, to go into the bathroom to heed his advice, Hannibal was sure.

Once in the doorway, Will paused and looked forward into the dimly lit hallway as he addressed Hannibal. “I’m sorry for waking you, again. You know, I don’t realize when it’s happening and when I’m…just, I’m sorry.” Will turned his head slightly, his blue eyes blurred with sleep, meeting Hannibal’s gaze. “And thank you. Again.” Hannibal was silent. 

Hannibal remained rooted in place and lost in thought as Will hurriedly walked out of the room and down the hall. He appreciated politeness, always, but was beginning to feel genuinely frustrated at both Will’s continued gratitude and apologies. He wondered if it was due to his difficulty in being modest enough to sling around terms of apology and thanks himself, or if he was feeling disappointed at what he considered to be a regression in his relationship with Will. Prior to the incident with Francis Dolarhyde and the fall from the cliff, Hannibal had felt as though all cards had been laid out on the table between himself and Will, with no room for sugar coating or awkwardness. It had been his assumption that their kill of the great Red Dragon and their embrace following would set in motion a continued openness and expression of self between them, and yet here was Will over a week later, painstakingly polite, modest, and skittish. Hannibal recognized that his younger friend had clearly experienced a major psychological shift, leading to his suicidal and homicidal action, and that both of them had been dealing with the slow healing process of painful injuries which made them exhausted and irritable. However, that did not make him a more patient man, and did nothing to diminish his constant thirst to know Will’s every thought. 

Will had been difficult to read ever since he had regained consciousness following the fall into the Atlantic, laying on the rickety wooden dock that belonged to the neighboring home down the winding street from Hannibal’s lair. When Will had awoken, Hannibal had been barely conscious himself, having exerted all of his energy into hoisting Will onto the dock before climbing up to lay in a heap beside him. Both of them were bruised and bloody, shivering with cold, their bodies going through rapid stages of shock and concussion. Neither of them had spoken for a long time, until the sun was overhead and Hannibal had become woozy from blood loss. Even during the painstakingly slow walk back to the house, Will remained silent. Hannibal could not judge whether Will was relieved or furious over the fact that they were still alive, though Hannibal himself was decidedly pleased that their injuries had not proven fatal. 

It took a loud exclamation of pain from Will to draw Hannibal out of the room, down the hall and into his own bedroom, where the master bath was located. Hannibal moved lithely and quietly like a prowling feline, drawing no attention to himself as he peered at Will’s reflection in the mirror through the cracked bathroom door. Will had cleaned his pectoral injury and had moved his attention to the stitches on his cheek. Hannibal watched, unmoved and unaffected, as Will grimaced in pain as he gargled disinfectant to clean the inside of the laceration. Though the stitches held, a drop of blood crawled down Will’s face, bright in the harsh lighting. Hannibal felt his pulse quicken ever so slightly. Will noticed the red drop after expelling the liquid from his mouth, and quickly used his thumb to catch the droplet before it could fall. Hannibal could not prevent a small hum of appreciation from escaping his throat as he witnessed Will suck the coppery blood from his thumb. Hannibal felt no shame or embarrassment as Will’s eyes met his own in the mirror, revealing his quiet voyeurism.  

Will started slightly before turning quickly to fully open the bathroom door. “Is there something that you need, Hannibal?” he asked, holding firm eye contact. Half of Hannibal’s mouth upturned into a small smile.

“No, dear Will, there is not. I was just going to extend an offer to cook breakfast for us, as it will be daybreak soon and I am assuming that this night holds no further opportunity to rest for either of us, anymore. Are you hungry?”

Will considered his options. He could challenge Hannibal’s weakly veiled peeping, he could retreat back to his room, he could assist Hannibal with breakfast, or he could walk out of this house and find a way, any way, to get into contact with Jack Crawford. Will entertained the ideas as though he hadn’t already made up his mind. “I could eat, Hannibal, yeah.”

Hannibal allowed the other half of his mouth to complete his small, pleased smile. “Very well. I will begin boiling water for coffee, as well.” 

Will closed the bathroom door after Hannibal left the bedroom and sat on the closed toilet seat, his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. He closed his eyes and sighed with exhaustion, playing countless scenarios in his head simultaneously, over and over again, as he had been doing for the last week. What would happen if...what would happen when...what would Hannibal do should I...Would Hannibal kill me if…?

When Will eventually made his way to the kitchen, the smell of sausage and eggs danced in the air, causing an audible grumble from his stomach. He smoothly slid into the kitchen, back to back with Hannibal, to complete the coffee in the French press. They had fallen into a routine, the two of them, since Hannibal had announced that he was feeling well enough to begin cooking three mornings prior. Hannibal took care of the main dish, as Will focused on beverages, setting the table, pouring the coffee. And then they would eat in silence, a silence so thick that it took effort for Will not to suffocate. He remained clueless as to how he should act, to the words that he should allow himself to speak. He knew that eventually they would have to discuss many things. How they planned to elude the FBI, for instance, or whether or not Will should continue to question how much longer Hannibal would allow him to live. What their joint murder of Francis Dolarhyde signified for himself, and for the both of them. What to do next.

As it turned out, Will did not have to fret about surviving yet another unbearably silent meal with Hannibal that morning. At the sound of what was likely an animal rummaging around in the rocks by the cliff, Will jumped violently in his chair, whipping his head around to see what had caused the outside noise. Seeing the frantic reaction in his eyes, Hannibal addressed Will softly.

“William, I have made mention before and I will yet again. We are safe here. I am not linked to this property on any document or in any database. The neighbors keep to themselves, and the young man who brings us our groceries picks up his payment from the mailbox when he drops off our goods. You need not worry about Jack or a SWAT team knocking down our door. Now please, think rationally and finish your eggs.” 

Will stood abruptly from his dining room chair, unsure of what he planned to do. Realizing that he was wringing his cloth napkin in his hands, he stilled and dropped it on the table before facing Hannibal.

“How can you be so sure, Hannibal? There is a stolen police car parked down the street, likely two if you include the one that Dolarhyde probably drove here. There is blood covering the pavement outside and a body in the ocean that could turn up nearby anyday, just like we did. We are eventually going to have to leave this house, assuming that you intend to let me live, and there are…”

“I will not allow anything to happen to you, Will.” Hannibal interrupted with a ferocity that startled Will completely, both due to the fact that Hannibal found it rude to interrupt others and due to the vehemence present in his voice. “Not at the hands of law enforcement, or at the hands of myself. I am unsure what you’re even thinking, making the suggestion that I do not intend to let you live. Don’t be ridiculous.” Hannibal’s eyes shone with a glint of anger, causing the hairs on Will’s neck to stand on end and his mouth to immediately dry. Feeling Hannibal’s eyes demanding that he not flee the room, Will sat down slowly and cleared his throat. 

“Okay, Dr. Lecter. If that’s the case, if what you say is true, then I guess I just have one question left.” When he met his eyes, Hannibal nodded his head, encouraging him to continue.

“What do we do now?”

A cold pool of nerves developed in Will’s stomach as Hannibal reached across the table, covering Will’s shaking hands with his own firm, warm palms. 

“First, we heal. And then, together, we hunt.” 


	2. Healing

Others may have found it boring, the process of healing. It required rest, limited movement, and somewhat exhausting rituals. The resting aspect consisted of quietness and the slow passage of time. The rituals, however, forced Will to share small, claustrophobic spaces with a serial killing cannibal. That facet of healing exposed itself as being anything but boring, and Will found that while he enjoyed the stillness of rest, he preferred the excitement of ritual. 

The days that passed mirrored the day before in almost every way, with small differences on occasion, such as the conversations that they shared or the food that Hannibal cooked. They woke either at sunrise or earlier, depending on Will’s struggle with night terrors or his lack thereof. They danced around each other in the kitchen, Hannibal preparing more complex meals every day as his zest for the art was reborn as he gained strength. Following their breakfast, which still remained mostly silent, Will would shower and take care of his cleaning and hygienic needs while Hannibal cleaned the kitchen and washed the dishes. Their mornings were borderline dull and...oddly domestic.

Will did not focus much on the discomfort caused by this feeling of domesticity that he was now sharing with the Chesapeake Ripper. Rather, he focused on the mounting tension that he felt in his chest when Hannibal was finished tidying the kitchen, knowing what was to follow as dictated by their ritual. 

“Will, would you be so kind as to assist me in wrapping my abdomen?” The same words, spoken in the same light accent, every day after breakfast. Naturally, Will would comply, because what other choice did he have? At least, that’s what he would tell himself, in his head. (You are doing this as a chore, as a necessity. You can’t be the reason why he gets an infection. What would become of you if he died?) He was far from admitting to himself that he enjoyed the closeness between them that was forced onto them given the circumstances. When the thought did appear in his head, usually out of nowhere, he willed it away as quickly as he could. Now was not the time to focus on messy wants (needs) or compulsions. Hannibal had been clear; first, they would heal. And then, only then, would they move forward. 

“Please, William. I know it is an inconvenience, and I assure you that it is only for another few days, but I’m afraid I must rely on your help until my range of motion increases a bit more.” Will’s attention snapped to Hannibal and he flushed, not having realized that he had gone somewhere else in his mind other than the present moment. 

“Right. Of course, let’s get it done.” Will fleetingly noticed that his voice had sounded much quieter than he had intended, but he pushed his misplaced vanity aside and followed Hannibal into the master bathroom, which they used as something of a triage center in the house. Hannibal mechanically unbuttoned his sleeping shirt before shrugging out of it, folding it, and setting it lightly on the bathroom counter. Small actions such as this struck Will, making it glaringly obvious how drastically the two men differed. Will would have slung off his cotton shirt or flannel directly onto the floor, where it would likely lay in a wrinkled ball until it was time to do laundry. 

Will cursed as the slender box of kitchen clingwrap fell from his hands onto the floor the moment that he opened it. He caught a glimpse of Hannibal’s eyebrows raising a mere fraction as he leaned down to retrieve it. 

“Where are you in your head? You have been more clumsy as of late,” Hannibal inquired, his tone steady as usual, with no indication of accusation or teasing. 

Will shrugged, noting only the slightest of discomfort from the action, and began to stretch out the static laden plastic. “I’m very different from you.” He pressed the edge of the plastic to Hannibal’s midsection and motioned for Hannibal to hold it so that he could maneuver the roll around his body, ensuring that his wounds were covered and would remain dry from the shower water. Hannibal did so, his hand nearly brushing Will’s fingers. Will moved quickly, ensuring that the contact would not occur; the feeling of Hannibal’s hands on his the other morning had lingered, causing his skin to crawl and his breath to hitch whenever he brought it to mind. He didn’t need more contact to focus on in the time being. Not while they were healing. 

“I am aware that we are different, yes. Would you explain to me how we are very different?” Hannibal did not look at Will as he spoke, instead focusing on smoothing the plastic as Will wrapped it around his torso. The scene was ridiculous to him and he felt agitated with himself for having to resort to using everyday cooking cling wrap. He should have been better prepared for the amount of damage that Francis was capable of committing. A lesson learned, he supposed.

“There are many things, Hannibal. You’re so neat and clean and tidy, compacting the evidence of your wrinkles or smudges into presentable packages that are pleasing to the eye. On the other hand, I’m content with clutter, and dust, a good coating of animal hair and human error. You won’t even let yourself have feelings; I feel everything, for everyone, all the time. Right now, you’re probably thinking about how convenient it is to have me heeding your advice and requests, you’re probably feeling as though you’ve been victorious with me, while I, well...while I’m trying to catalogue everything in this room that you may have used to kill somebody at one point in time. It’s not the most relaxing environment for me.” 

Hannibal did not respond immediately, allowing Will to work in silence as he completed the last layer of wrapping. His mind categorized Will’s vocalized differences between the two men, and he spoke next to indulge himself, to get a further glimpse into the mind of his empath. 

“If you were to kill somebody Will, using something in this room, what would you choose to use?” 

He had to admit to himself that he had thought that his question would give Will more of a pause. Instead, it resulted in a small sigh from the younger man as he used the jagged edge of the box to tear the plastic. 

“I would use this,” Will stated, holding up the box of cling wrap. “The wrap itself, not the box. People, they talk. Usually about themselves and their own grandiose, or else they talk about the faults and shortcomings of others. I don’t...I don’t like that, very much. I could suffocate them,” he stated, looking up to meet Hannibal’s dark, glinting eyes, “and then they would be quiet.” 

A deep warmth sprouted in Hannibal’s belly at the sight and sound of murderous desire escaping Will’s lips. It was nearly dizzying, this gift of expression, and Hannibal’s appreciation for the other man grew exponentially in that moment. Without thinking, he felt his tongue run across his lower lip as he watched Will take a step towards him, medical tape and scissors in hand. A desire that he was not accustomed to experiencing roared to life beneath his flesh at the feeling of Will’s fingertips, softly pressing the tape to the top of the plastic wrap, effectively waterproofing the dressing. He knew that he could overpower Will, despite his injuries. He knew that he could take whatever he wanted from him. He could dominate him in an instant, could satisfy his wants (needs) in a matter of moments. This knowledge tried his self control. (No weakness. Not now.) He turned his focus back to the conversation, eager to continue exploring the mind of his friend. 

“Thank you for your answer. Although, as you will find, suffocation causes distress and slow death of muscle cells in the body. Blood loss or any kind of swift method of killing avoids this phenomenon, resulting in a better, brighter taste.” 

Losing the composure that he had managed to hold onto despite having just revealed an intimate desire, Will felt himself impulsively clamp down on the handle of the scissors in his right hand when his brain processed the statement that Hannibal had made. He noticed the blood seeping from his fingertip on his left hand before recognizing the pain of the cut. 

“Son of a bitch,” he exclaimed under his breath, before quickly cutting the medical tape, patting the sticky edge down to complete Hannibal’s dressing, and dropping the scissors in the sink. He turned on the hot water and stuck his hand beneath the stream, wincing at the slight sting of the cut on the tip of his finger. 

(Although, as you will find, suffocation causes distress...swift method of killing results in a better, brighter taste. As you will find...as you will find.) Hannibal’s words ricocheted inside of his skull, causing his vision to blur.

“You...you intend for me to eat them.”

It wasn’t a question, Hannibal realized. It was a statement, spoken as a revelation. The phrasing indicated that Will had accepted that Hannibal had wanted them to share victims in the future, and this was cause for him to smile, if only for a moment. The smile diminished and was replaced with a frown when he noticed steam rising from the water in the sink, the water that Will was using to assist with his cut.

“Cold water, William.” 

Warmth. It was the basic, simple sensation of warmth that Will identified first before puzzling together what was taking place. Even when he realized what was causing him to feel so warm, he still found himself glancing upward into the mirror for confirmation. As he did so, the sensation of cold overtook his hand, causing him to tear his eyes away from Hannibal’s reflection in the mirror back to his injured digit.

Hannibal stood behind him, his body flush with Will’s, as he leaned over to toggle the faucet on the sink, causing the water to go from steaming hot to ice cold. The warmth of his bare flesh sank through Will’s thin cotton t-shirt, causing him to still instantly. Will noticed the sensation of the hairs on his arms prickling as he registered Hannibal’s hot breath on the back of his neck when he spoke.

“Cold water will help to constrict the blood vessels and will assist in ceasing the blood flow quickly.” His voice came out calm and steady, as though he was not currently pinning Will to the sink, leaving him with nowhere to go. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. The only sound in the world was their breathing, Hannibal’s, quiet and relaxed; Will’s, huffed and frantic. Hannibal reveled in watching Will’s reaction to their close proximity in the mirror, though he felt a twinge of annoyance at the similarities between Will and a caged animal, longing to escape.

“What seems to be the matter, Will? The last time I allowed myself to get this close to you, on the cliff, I felt no fear from you. I felt nothing but appreciation, and relief. In fact, I believe you described our experience as…”

“...beautiful.” Will completed his sentence in tandem, the low rumble of his voice causing Hannibal’s stomach to dip. Will watched in joint longing and terror as Hannibal leaned his head forward, burying his forehead into Will’s curls. Hannibal's breath became even hotter on the back of Will’s neck, causing his heartbeat to triple. The memory of that night above the ocean flashed into Will’s mind; himself, covered in the black blood of the Dragon, his shaking body engulfed by Hannibal’s embrace. He had felt it beautiful, then, and thought the memory of the moment beautiful now. He recalled the images that had emerged in his mind prior to latching onto Hannibal and hurling them over the edge. Images of the two of them elsewhere, prowling and duplicating the carnage that they had shared moments earlier. Images that had made his heart ache and burn with a want that he had never known before. Images that had led him to believe that he could not survive with Hannibal in this world alongside of him, without leading to his inevitable self destruction. 

Will heard a strangled noise escape from his mouth, causing Hannibal to raise his head in alarm. Will took the opportunity to quickly slide away from the man and let himself out of the bathroom. He didn’t look back as Hannibal called his name a single time; instead, he walked quickly to the side glass door, slipped on a pair of Hannibal’s too-large shoes, and swiftly exited the home. He had no idea what he planned to do or where he planned to go. All he knew was that he could not think straight with Hannibal sharing his space, his presence oozing into the air, a constant reminder that Will’s darkest and most dangerous desires now existed within the reach of his near future. It was overwhelming, too much. 

(I just need to think clearly)

It was after midnight when Hannibal heard the side door gently close, stirring him from his slumber. His first instinctual urge was to leap out of his bed and meet Will where he stood, to demand to know where he had been and if he was hurt. It took strength, but he fought that urge, deciding that should Will wish to see him or speak to him that he knew where to find him. In agony, Hannibal listened to the soundtrack of Will in the house. Footsteps, shower water, doors opening and closing, more footsteps that eventually landed directly outside of Hannibal’s bedroom door. Just seeing the shadows of Will’s feet beneath the crack of the wooden door filled Hannibal with a sense of deep calm. (I knew that he would come back to me.) 

He did not feign sleep when Will opened his bedroom door, instead allowing to let Will see by the hallway light spilling across the room that he was awake and waiting. Will’s hair dripped with water, brown curls plastered to his forehead and the longer bits falling into his eyes. He had dressed in his usual sleepwear of boxer shorts and a cotton shirt, and his revealed skin shone with undried flecks of moisture. . 

Hannibal thought to himself that Will was beautiful. 

Will cleared his throat and shuffled his weight nervously. He started to speak, the first word faltering in his mouth before it could escape into the atmosphere. Hannibal watched him physically firm his resolve by planting his feet, squaring his shoulders, and looking at Hannibal straight on.

“I just wanted to let you know, Hannibal. I’m ready to begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the kudos and encouragement for the first chapter! The feedback definitely made me feel both simultaneously confident and terrified to continue writing and sharing this story, and I appreciate it beyond words.


	3. Beginnings

“Would you be so kind as to bring up a cut of meat from the basement?”

Will paused momentarily, nearly overflowing the glass of red wine that he had been pouring prior to Hannibal making his request. Setting the bottle down gently, Will turned to face Hannibal, who was setting out pots and pans of varying sizes onto the kitchen countertops. Will appreciated the ease at which the other man bent, lifted, and moved around the room, indicating the higher range of motion that Hannibal had mentioned the week prior, the last time that Will had assisted him in wrapping his wounds.

“Hannibal, I swear you waited until this very second to throw me off. Just as I was about to have my first drink in over two weeks. It’s cruel, you know.” Will attempted humor to avoid revealing his slight distress that came along with Hannibal’s new request. He had figured that there was a basement in the house, though he had no idea where it’s entrance lay. He had not taken to opening doors or exploring at random, still holding onto boundaries and wandering only into the necessary rooms. When he and Hannibal weren’t working in the kitchen or eating in the dining room, Will kept to either his room or one of the two bathrooms, ensuring to utilize the master bathroom accessible only through Hannibal’s bedroom for cleaning his wounds, and only when Hannibal was not in the vicinity. His wounds being mostly healed, the stitches having been removed and the bruises down to a sickly yellow color, it was now a rare occurrence for him to have to utilize the master bathroom anyways. 

Will had found himself tempted on many occasions to join Hannibal in the home’s study. It had become a part of their daily ritual for Hannibal to retire to the study with a book to read by the light of a single lamp, with a glass of wine in hand. He would stay there for hours in the late afternoon and into the early evening, before returning into the kitchen to fix dinner for the two of them. Will was forced to walk past the open door to the study every time he left his room to use the bathroom, and though he tried to avoid doing so, he usually stole a glance into the room. The sight of Hannibal tucked into the corner of the deep brown leather couch, his legs either crossed or at times tucked beneath him, completely engrossed in a book, had become a visual representation of comfort to Will. Never had he witnessed the man so complacent and thoroughly relaxed...so content. Though, Will suspected that Hannibal’s contentment would deepen should he ever decide to join him in that room, on that couch, close enough for their bodies to brush. 

Will felt pleasure when Hannibal’s mouth upturned ever so slightly, for a fleeting moment, before responding. “My apologies. I have been thinking that I would like for you to assist me more during the preparation of our meals. While I ensure you that I have kept my promise to keep our consumption of meat limited to what you might buy from your typical butcher, I feel as though your statement made at my doorway last week indicates that you may feel prepared to allow for some...wiggle room.” 

Following Will’s declaration of readiness seven nights before, he had quietly returned to his bedroom to sleep, leaving Hannibal alone to deal with his overwhelming feelings of excitement generated by his statement. “I’m ready to begin.” Sleep had eluded Hannibal that night due to his inability to soothe the thrumming of desire and anxiousness that pulsed throughout his body. It had taken substantial willpower to continue on with their ritual the following day, though he had taken it upon himself to dress his wounds, not willing to overload Will’s fragile mindset as he nearly had the day prior. As the days passed, however, it had been evident that Will’s mindset was not nearly as fragile as it had been. The nightmares had lessened slightly following Will’s day of solitude outside of the house, and he moved about more confidently and with more ease. It had become more difficult for Hannibal to continue avoiding jumpstarting their natural progression. 

It lead them to that moment, Will in the dining room pouring a glass of wine, Hannibal busying himself in the kitchen to prepare dinner. Hannibal hadn’t planned his request, had very much surprised himself, in fact. The look of bafflement on Will’s face made him feel as though he had grossly mistepped, until Will opened his mouth. 

“Point me towards the basement, then.”

Hannibal’s heart pounded, though Will could not have noticed due to his calm and stoic, ever stoic, demeanor. Hannibal turned and walked curtly down the short hallway, using his hand to indicate the first door on right. He did not move out of the way for Will to squeeze past him in the narrow hall, instead planting himself firmly in place. Just as Will extended his hand to open the basement door, he felt a light touch on his shoulder. 

“Do not overwhelm yourself, William. Let us start with something simple.” 

Will shivered as he nodded, wrenching the door open and closing it just as quickly behind him the moment that he stepped over the threshold. The stairway and the rest of the basement had immediately been washed with overhead lights at the opening of the door, and Will scoffed to himself at the reminder of Hannibal’s constant overindulgences. The basement was unlike his own, back home in Wolf Trap. There were no signs of livability. No dust, no musty smells or dampness to cling to his skin. Naturally, as the rest of the house, the basement was clinical. Clean, antiseptic, disinfected. Sterile. The embodiment of Hannibal. 

It did not take but a moment for Will to locate his intended purpose in the basement. Against the far wall stood two large metal doors with digital temperature readings displayed on the outside. Will bypassed what he assumed was the freezer and stood in front of the industrial sized walk-in cooler. He was perfectly aware of the contents that he would find within, and as he stood and stared at the handle of the cooler, he was uncertain if he was taking time to brace himself against feelings of horror or feelings of giddiness. 

“You can choose to be happy, you know.”

Though Will did not expect to hear her voice, he did not find himself surprised. He chose not to turn around, instead continued to gaze at the steel in front of him. He did not want to see her as he last had in Europe, throat exposed and bleeding. He chose to close his eyes and envision her complete instead, standing beside him in his stream, fly fishing rod in hand. In a previous visit to his mind palace, he had taught her how to knot and cast the line. Standing in Hannibal’s basement, he decided that he preferred to be there in that moment, with her.

“Whose name did you choose, Abigail?” 

She smiled, the sunlight reflecting off of her chestnut hair as she pulled gently at the line. His heart swelled at the sight of her, looking youthful and untarnished. His feelings of paternal admiration returned to him in a rush, as they always did when Abigail entered into his mind. 

“Both of you,” she said simply, an explanation unnecessary. 

More than hearing her voice, more than the sight of her, that response took Will by surprise. That she would choose Hannibal’s name as the name of one that she cared for struck Will as counterintuitive. 

“Even though he took your life, and nearly mine as well?”

Abigail pulled at her line, which had become taught with her catch. She remained silent, focused on the task at hand, her brow furrowed in a way that Will intrinsically thought to be adorable. He watched with pride as she struggled with the fish on the end of her line, until it was in her hands, flopping about wildly. She grinned with the pleasure of her success. 

“He took my life, yes. But if you think about it, it was sort of his to take, wasn’t it? He used his hands to stop my bleeding when my father cut me, so he basically saved my life. Did Hannibal use me as a pawn? I think so. But don’t you see that he cared about me, still? And can’t you see how much he cares about you? He used me for your benefit, and for his. He used me to bring you closer. And for that short while, when I lived though I should have been dead, both of you gave me a sense of purpose, and a sense of...family. And it was lovely.” Her words rang in his head and brought up too many emotions for him to sort. Rather than try to respond when he had no words, he simply watched her as she wrenched the hook from the fish’s mouth, causing a small amount of blood to leak onto her pale hands. She sent the fish back into the water without so much as a splash. 

“I loved you. I still do.”

She smiled at his words and met his eyes with hers. “Of course you do. And so did he, in the only way that he could.” Before he could brace himself, she was in his arms, holding him tightly. He placed his hand on her head, smoothing her hair. It was soft and smelled of cotton and pine. He heard her mumble into his jacket.

“And I love both of you enough to tell you that it’s okay. Will, be true to yourself. Be who you are, and be whoever that is, with Hannibal. Choose to be happy.” 

It was with those words that Will opened his eyes. Though Abigail was gone, and hadn’t really been there to begin with, he felt the lingering warmth of her words and her blessing of sorts. Feeling his doubts diminished even further, he reached out and pulled open the door to the walk-in cooler. The cool air caused his flesh to ripple with goosebumps, though the sight before him sent a hot flash of unidentifiable sensation up his spine. 

Naturally, the packages were neat and vacuum sealed, their contents visible through the clear plastic. Some packages were more easily discernable than others, as the body parts has been left whole. Of the dozen or so packages sitting on the refrigerator shelves, Will identified an arm that appeared female, a set of lungs, a cut of thigh, the bright whiteness of the bone shining in the dimness. Will had expected the walk-in to be filled floor to ceiling, though he now realized that it would have been foolish; he would likely find that visual should he open the freezer. 

“Wouldn’t want the meat to spoil before he...before we consume it,” he whispered to himself under his breath, reaching out to pick up a package. It seemed unbelievable to him that he was watching himself go through the actions of picking up what appeared to be a human liver as though he were picking up ground cow from the market. From nowhere, he recalled something that Abel Gideon had once said to him.

“You have it in you, as they say.” 

Will plucked the relatively small package of meat from the shelf and swiftly exited the cooler, bounded up the stairs, and closed the basement door behind him before he could drown in either his self-doubts or his distant memories. He took a deep breath as he stepped out of the hallway and into the kitchen, where Hannibal was leaning against the counter, his arms crossed, staring at the space where Will now stood, as though he had not moved in the last few minutes. As though he had been waiting. 

Rather than following his evolutionary instinct to avoid the predator in the room, Will slowly approached Hannibal until their feet were nearly touching. He held the meat in front of his chest, in the small amount of space between them. Hannibal’s eyes flickered to the package and the corners of his lips pulled slightly upwards. “That is a great choice, William.” Will could not help but to shudder when Hannibal’s fingertips brushed his as he took the package and turned around, to the sink. He turned on the cold water, tore open the package with nimble fingers, and surprised Will by not rinsing the meat, but instead stepping aside. 

“Wash your hands, if you would, please.” 

Will did as he was told, not only when he washed his hands in the sink, but also in the 20 minutes that followed. He ground seasonings, added butter to a cast iron skillet, flipped the meat when asked. Though he felt clumsy in the kitchen with Hannibal as his mentor, he also felt significant as his sous-chef. Hannibal’s eyes did not judge him when he fumbled or spilled; instead, he following behind Will with a wet cloth, cleaning up behind him. As Will followed the instructions given by Hannibal, he found that he was not focused on what he was cooking precisely, but that he was rather focused on pleasing Hannibal with his obedience and his willingness. He no longer felt disgusted with himself with this realization. Instead, he felt purposeful and care free.

It was not until they sat across from each other at the table, the plates of gorgeously placed meat and bright vegetables in front of them, that Will began to wonder about the obvious question. 

“Who is this, Hannibal?” He made certain to keep his voice light and curious instead of accusatory. 

Hannibal thought for a moment. “If you are afraid that it belongs to somebody that you know, you need not worry. It belongs to a woman who did very vile and rude things, Will. When you put her in your mouth, you will absolve the world of her presence and misdeeds, you will consume her impact and you will make her beautiful, as she will be a part of you.” 

Despite his best efforts, Will felt himself flush at what he took to be Hannibal’s compliment of him. Following Hannibal’s lead, Will broke off a small edge of the liver with the side of his fork, impaled the meat with the prongs, and brought it to his lips. He knew that Hannibal was observing him, was watching him consume his victim, for the first time knowing the source of his sustenance. Will met Hannibal’s gaze with intention before parting his lips and slipping the meat inside. 

Whether it was the meat, his knowledge, or Hannibal’s skill as an instructor in the kitchen, the flavor inside of his mouth was so delectable that it caused his eyes to roll back in his head, a vibration of noise to escape from the back of his throat. His eyes snapped open at the sound of Hannibal’s fork clattering onto the table as it slipped from his hands. Will couldn’t help but smile at the awestruck look on Hannibal’s face, his mouth slightly agape and his pupils blown wide. Only a single word escaped the Doctor’s lips, causing Will’s smile to grow wider.

“Devastating.”


	4. A Study in Rain

Will joined Hannibal in the study on a Thursday evening. 

Though he had taken to using the afternoon hours to exercise in order to rebuild his strength, he could not bring himself to do so on that particular night. He found himself becoming itchy, beneath his skin, where there lived an ache to leave the house and visit civilization. As his body was fully healed, not to mention well fed, it buzzed with energy and vibrated with the stress of captivity. Will had brought it up to Hannibal once, who in response had swiftly shut the idea down. They were comfortable for the time being, he had said. They had groceries and their necessities, and besides, a time would come when they would have to run; that would be the time for Will to stretch his legs. 

It wasn’t that Will was bored. On the contrary, he found himself enlightened every day in the kitchen, as he and Hannibal prepared dinner together. Hannibal had been teaching him more advanced cooking techniques, with different body parts that provided varying challenges. Will learned how to cook appendages, both bone in and out, as well as softer tissues, and more complex organs and muscles. He learned which meat tasted better braised or marinated, boiled or baked. Hannibal was, of course, an excellent teacher; patient, clear in his instruction, and generous with praise whenever Will executed a cook properly. Hannibal, Will tended to think, was also an excellent voyeur, who always seemed to enjoy soaking in the sight of Will eating his victims, at times even seeming to enjoy that stimulus more than the taste of the meat itself. 

Still, Will found himself antsy. The cooking and consumption of human flesh still felt comorbidly dangerous and satisfying, however, he found himself becoming accustomed to the preparation and consumption of the meat. He was becoming complacent, and he found himself wanting to do more, wanting to move forward to whatever was...next. He was uncertain how to bring this feeling up with Hannibal, though they had become more comfortable with one another as time passed. They had conversations throughout their meals, in the kitchen, during clean up, and in passing throughout the day when they happened to see each other in the house. Both men feared that their pleasant equilibrium may be thrown off if they were to cross any boundaries when it came to their routine, so they danced the dance, day in and day out, Hannibal in the study, Will on the treadmill, both retiring to their own bedrooms at the end of the night.

However, this day was different. It had been raining all morning, and there was a chill throughout the house that Will couldn’t shake. After breakfast, instead of working out or trying to read in his own room, Will found himself insatiably tired and had decided to nap. His sleep at night had not improved by much, though he found that he remembered less of the night terrors when he awoke in the mornings, for which he was grateful. He rarely indulged in daytime naps, as they were typically long. Too long. And on that Thursday, there was no exception. He found himself jolted from sleep by a rapping on his door. 

“I’ve prepared dinner, William. I don’t want to disturb you, but you should come and eat, while it is still fresh.” Hannibal’s voice was muffled through the door, and really, it was the magnificent smell of the food that motivated Will to climb out of bed and into his slippers. His grogginess made the process challenging, and he cursed himself under his breath for allowing the afternoon to have been wasted.

He was dismayed to see clearly through the many windows of the home that it was still raining outside. He found the rain to be a natural sedative, one that sank him easily into a dark, romantic mood. Everything was softer in the rain somehow; he had once thought that the rain intensified his empathy, and his emotions in general. Typically this was alright for him, but he realized that it made him uncomfortable to be feeling raw and vulnerable alone in the house with his mentor. 

“Hannibal,” Will exclaimed part way through dinner, sounding concerned. “Where is the meat?”

Hannibal slowly took a drink from his wine glass and set it down gently before answering. “William, I’m surprised it took you this long to realize that I’ve served you a vegetarian dish. It is with displeasure that I must finally admit that we are running low on our supply. We will have to be more...picky, and sparse, with the meat that we use, from now on.” 

Hannibal could see the disappointment flash over Will’s face, quick but strong. In his disappointment at making the announcement, he felt a swoop of pride at the reaction. Will had taken to eating human flesh with ease, a feat that endeared him even more heavily to Hannibal. That he was distraught, even for a second, at the thought of running out made Hannibal feel victorious. 

“Well, we’ll just have to get more.” Will’s voice was calm and low, as though he had just stated that it was raining outside. Hannibal felt a smile form on his face, uncalculated and much to his surprise. 

“We’ve had this discussion, William. Once I start claiming new victims, we are putting ourselves at a very high risk. We should begin preparing to relocate before we try to find fresh meat. It is better to be on the safe side, better to have a plan, rather than to make a hasty and risky decision.”

Will’s shoulders slumped, and he looked rather as though someone had kicked one of his most beloved dogs. Hannibal knew, based on prior conversation, that the idea of fleeing the safety of the home and being on the run from the law enforcement for whom he used to work was a very overwhelming concept for him. No matter how many times Hannibal had stated that he would take care of everything when the time came, Will’s anxiety was still very visible. It agitated Hannibal that Will would not come to him for comfort, as an outlet to quell that anxiety. He had tried rather hard to be blunt about his wish to be Will’s source for anything that he may need, whether it be safety, psychotherapy, intimacy, etcetera. Yet Will remained always out of bounds, just within arm’s reach. 

That is what made Will’s entry into the study after dinner that night so surprising to Hannibal. From the corner of his eye, he noticed the movement of the small man as he walked past the open door, as was typical. It took strength and focus for Hannibal not to acknowledge the quickening of his pulse when he noticed, without looking up from his book, that Will had doubled back, had actually stepped into the room. It wasn’t until he felt the weight of Will sitting on the opposite end of the couch that he tore his eyes from the pages and settled them onto Will’s own glinting stare. 

For a few moments, it was silent, and the men let themselves succumb to the thickness of it, until other sounds loudened into a cacophony of background noise. The rain, heavy and constant, hitting the roof and window panes. The crackling of the fireplace in the corner of the room, and the sound of their breathing, heavier than usual. Will felt as though the air itself was charged, amped up with the feeling of something immense and forthcoming. 

“I need more, Hannibal.”

The Doctor felt the hair rise on his arms as goosebumps overtook his body. Few things in the world could cause him to have an emotional and physical reaction simultaneously, but the sound of pleading, of desperation in Will’s voice was apparently one of them, for as his body reacted, something inside of his chest felt strained and tight. It took effort for him to clear his throat before he responded, as his mouth had quickly dried. He found his reaction to be interesting. 

“In what way do you need more, Will?”

Will inhaled deeply, exhaling with a rattled breath. “I need...I need...the cooking, it’s a great experience, Hannibal, but I need to do more. I have to be more than this. We...you and I, we ended the Red Dragon, mere yards from where we sit, and it was the most gratuitous and free moment of my life. I need more of that feeling. You freed me, you RELEASED me, and I feel like a caged wolf, pacing, back and forth, inside my own body. It needs to do more than feed, Hannibal, it needs to...hunt.” 

In order to maintain composure, Hannibal took a slow drag from his wine glass, not daring to look over to his companion in the fear of his emotions being easily read. He was taken back to the time when he first felt the burn, the desire in his veins to consume the lives of others. The memories, coupled with the rain, made him feel something that he was not accustomed to; nostalgia. Heartbreak, mixed with confusion and longing.

“Are you ready to run?” He asked simply. He didn’t have to wait long for a response. 

“I’ve always wanted to run away with you, Hannibal.” 

Will hadn’t planned on divulging that information, no matter how true it was. He blamed his confession on his current vulnerability, on the rain, on the way that Hannibal’s lips shone with wine, on the strand of hair that was hanging over the tip of his ear. Without so much as a thought, Will reached across the couch cushion between them and lightly tucked the sandy strand behind Hannibal’s ear. Feeling him freeze beneath his touch, Will felt a barrier break inside of him. Hannibal was a monster, yes. A serial killer. A cannibal. A human being, with his own vulnerabilities, insecurities, and need for validation. 

“I was laying on that linoleum floor, watching our d….watching Abigail die, feeling myself bleeding to death, trying to hold myself together with my hands, and all I could think, all I could wonder was where you were going and if I would find you. You killed me, and I was panicking at the thought of never seeing you again. Even then, I wanted to run away with you. And learning that you were in Europe with Bedelia? Christ, Hannibal, it ached. It ached so terribly that I went around the world to find you. I told myself that I wanted to capture you, to bring you in, to end your reign over me. I told myself that every moment of every day because I wouldn’t let myself admit that I just wanted to find you, kill her, and escape with you. Even after it seemed as though that could never be a reality, after your surrender, my wife would wake me in the middle of the night because she thought I was having night terrors, when in reality I was in physical pain being so far away from you. Am I ready to run, Hannibal? Yes, I am. As long as I’m running with you.” 

Hannibal was still on the outside, and Will admired his conviction to hold his facade, as he could feel the man’s pulse beneath his hand, which was still lingering between Hannibal’s shoulder and throat. It had tripled as Will had spoken, urging him to continue, forcing the words out of his mouth. Will thought that he had never felt more powerful than he did in that moment, not even when slaying the Dragon. 

“So, Hannibal, my question to you is not whether you’re ready to run, because you’ve always been prepared to take that course of action, it seems. My question to you is the first one that you asked; in what way do you need more?” 

Will inadvertently wet his lips the moment that Hannibal looked in his direction, causing the older man to inhale sharply and close his eyes. Not for the first time, Will felt himself begin to harden at the sight of Hannibal seemingly falling apart. This time, Will did not feel ashamed. He felt like a god.

Hannibal’s voice was barely above a whisper when he responded. “Right now, my beautiful boy, I need more of you. Please, be closer to me.” 

Will’s mind kicked into overdrive, the options in front of him overwhelming. He knew that now was not the time to crawl into Hannibal’s lap, or straddle him, or kiss him, despite the fact that it was the only thing in that moment that he wanted to do. His desire scared him, and he did not want to feel scared, or rushed, or hurried. Nothing about his relationship with Hannibal had been hurried. It had been years in the making, it had taken weeks of cohabitation to get to this point in time, and Will did not want to make a fool out of himself. So instead of giving in to the passion he was currently feeling, Will slowly spanned the space between them, shifting closer on the couch. He lifted Hannibal’s arm and slowly lowered his head onto Hannibal’s upper thigh, pulling the rest of his body onto the couch, effectively laying in Hannibal’s lap. Still controlling Hannibal’s arm, Will placed it across his own chest, laying his hand on top of Hannibal’s, which was shaking, ever so slightly. He held Hannibal’s splayed fingers directly over his heart, and covered the other man’s arm with his own, in a tight half-embrace. 

The silence returned to them then, with Hannibal sitting ever so still and Will staring up at the ceiling from his lap, their fingers intertwined on Will’s rapidly rising and falling chest. Knowing that he would become overwhelmed at the sensation of meeting Hannibal’s gaze, which he could feel roaming his face, Will closed his eyes and moved in closer, his cheek flush with Hannibal’s stomach. The silence stretched, but it was comfortable, and substantial. Will found himself drifting to sleep after a while, and the realization made him smile. His smile grew wider when Hannibal used his other hand to entrench himself in Will’s curls, petting him softly, massaging his scalp. When Will dared to open his eyes, he found that Hannibal’s were closed, his head tilted against the back of the couch. Will thought that he looked younger, almost youthful, in that moment. 

They fell asleep there, together, and in the morning Will would laugh as he woke, realizing that the terrors had not come for him in his sleep. Not on that rainy, cold Thursday night, and not ever again.


	5. The Calm Before the Storm

Though Will woke blissfully, he also woke up alone. 

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he lazily padded out of the study and down the hall to the kitchen, where he believed he would find Hannibal. The kitchen quiet, he inspected the house in its entirety. With Hannibal nowhere in sight, Will’s heart began to pound. He found the sound of his blood rushing to be noisy and distracting. The empty rooms surrounded him as panic rose in his chest. 

He knew that Hannibal was not a big proponent of spending time outside, from fear of being spotted and recognized, but Will felt compelled to see if he had wandered from the house for some reason. There was a chill in the air, and the sky was gray. Will had lost track of how long they had been in the house and away from the rest of the world, and the cool weather was surprising. He took a moment to appreciate the sound and feel of the natural air before ducking his head, doing his best to make his shaggy hair shield his face. His curls had grown to an alarming length; Hannibal had commented on his disheveled appearance a few times over the last week or two, comparing him lightly to his shaggiest dog, back at Wolf Trap.

A bolt of heartache flashed beneath his breastplate. He missed his dogs. He often had thoughts of his home, cluttered and smelling of earth and dog food. At times he wished to be back there, all the way back in time to Wolf Trap, but every time he imagined going back and feeling at home there, Hannibal was always there as well. He had decided to equate Hannibal with home at some point, and he was becoming okay with that. That revelation didn’t change the fact that he often wished he had his dogs to care for, and to care for him. He knew that Molly was likely taking care of them just fine, perhaps with the assistance of her family or his previous co-workers. Will wondered if they even thought about him anymore, his team at the FBI, or if they had moved along to a newer, darker presence. If they had grown bored with Hannibal Lecter and his weak puppy, Special Agent Graham.

At the thought of Hannibal, the ache in his chest doubled as he cursed under his breath. He had circled the house, and was now partway down the driveway, to the main road that snaked up and around the cliffs, the only path that connected the homes. He knew, deep down, that he wasn’t going to find Hannibal anywhere down the driveway, and he wasn’t willing to risk going further.

He had already risked their safety once, spending the night wandering around in the wilderness. It felt like forever ago, that night. In his mind, he had been escaping. Somehow, he was going to find his way to Jack. However, the keys to the police car were long gone, having been in Hannibal’s pocket when they took their fall. 

For a heartbeat, the thought occurred to him that with Hannibal currently missing, he could do just that. He could continue walking without looking back.

Instead, he chose to wonder if Hannibal would allow them to have a dog, someday.

When he reached the road, he dared enough to stand in the middle of it, looking in all directions. He saw no indication of Hannibal, and his stomach dipped. His panic had quelled as he had busied his mind with distracting thoughts, but now that he realized the truth of the matter, that Hannibal was nowhere to be found, his terror returned, deep and tangible. He felt a conglomeration of fear, both for himself and for Hannibal. 

Where could he have gone?

What’s going to happen if he doesn’t come back?

Who is he with?

What do I do?

Will’s mind clouded with too many questions at once, he turned to walk back to the house. He attempted calmness in the hope to increase his rationality and ability to plan for whatever the outcome of the situation may be. He found that his greatest fear was not that Hannibal was dead, but rather that he had been captured. 

Actually, as much as he did not want to acknowledge the idea, his legitimate greatest fear was that Hannibal had simply moved on, leaving him behind, another demolished pawn in the path of his destruction.

Will didn’t think that it was possible. Not after the night that they had spent together. Not after the discussion that had occurred, which had felt a lot like establishing building blocks for some kind of...future. Not after falling asleep ensnared in one another physically, a boundary now shattered that had been fragile and translucent for years. 

Thinking of the night previous, Will’s already enhanced adrenaline skyrocketed. As someone who felt everything so greatly, the rollercoaster of emotions that he was experiencing was making him feel nauseated, and he had started to sweat. Opening the door to the house, he was overcome with warmth, and a flash of dizziness hit him hard, as did the blanket of silence when he closed the door behind him. Again, for the third time so far that day, Will longed for canine companionship. He was feeling overwhelmingly alone, and he had always preferred dogs to people when it came to being comforted. 

In an attempt to stave off a complete meltdown, Will filled a glass with water and walked back into the study. He debated on trying to lay down in his own bed until his nausea passed; however, the study was closer and he did not trust himself to make it down the hallway. He curled himself into a ball on Hannibal’s end of the couch, closed his eyes, and took small sips from his water glass until he felt his pulse return to almost normal. He could feel the most intense sensations of anxiety begin to fade, despite his racing thoughts. He distinctly remembered a past therapy session with Hannibal, where the Doctor had explained that the human body was not meant to sustain anxiety and panic for long periods at a time. For this, Will was grateful. 

Much to his own surprise, he began to feel himself drowsing to the point where he spilled water down the front of his shirt. Rather than feeling guilty about entertaining the idea of a nap when his...Hannibal was missing, he rationalized, telling himself that his eyelids felt weighed down due to the heavy crash of adrenaline. Setting the water glass on the side table, Will unraveled his body and stretched out on the couch. As he turned over, he felt a scratch against his back, accompanied by the noise of crinkling paper. 

The still silence that filled the rooms of the house was shattered by Will’s loud, barking laughter moments later. He could not remember the last time that he felt as relieved and absolutely ridiculous as he did in that moment, as he pulled a note out from between the couch cushions, immediately recognizing not only that it was addressed to him, but that it was also in Hannibal’s handwriting. 

“Good morning, William.

As I write this, you lay across the room from me, soundly sleeping, as you have been throughout the night. It seems as though your bad sleeping habits have influenced my own, at least tonight, as I can’t seem to still myself for longer than a few moments at a time. Your voice echoes in my mind, telling me that you need more. You are a brave man, one that I am proud to share myself and my experiences with. I would be doing you a great disservice if I did not provide you with more, and that is not something that I am keen to do. I have arrangements to make in the city, for us. I will be back in a handful of days. You have plenty to eat and drink. Two things that I must ask of you while I am gone; please pack any clothing or belongings that have come to hold meaning to you, and please, do not fret. I will be back for you, soon.

Yours with sincerity,  
H.” 

*

The second night that he spent alone, Will slept in Hannibal’s bedroom. 

With a feeling of ease and anticipation, Will’s days passed smoothly. Shortly after reading Hannibal’s letter, which must have gotten jostled as Will had slept that night, he had thrown himself into preparing for Hannibal’s return. First, he packed as instructed, finding it simultaneously pleasing and somewhat annoying that the clothing he had been wearing, and did not want to part with, all belonged to Hannibal. Though they hung a size too large on his frame, he had grown accustomed to the materials and textures of certain articles, including the cotton t-shirts and sleep pants. After packing his belongings, he began focusing on cleaning the already nearly pristine house. He felt as though he was doing the opposite of nesting; he was preparing to fly from the coop. Excitement and nervousness tingled beneath his skin as he wondered where he and Hannibal would be going. Ultimately, he found that he didn’t care.

The second day of being solo in the house was spent sipping scotch and perusing through the books in the study, as well as preparing lavish meals for one. Will enjoyed being daring and pushing his own limits in the kitchen without Hannibal guiding his actions, even though his preparations were vegetarian. Will did not feel right eating flesh with Hannibal away from home. 

Following dinner and dishes the second night, Will stopped himself from entering his own bedroom. His hand on the doorknob, he glanced down the hallway to the door of Hannibal’s room. Magnetized, he left his room behind, having made the split second decision to see what it would feel like to sleep in the bed of a serial killer. 

The sheets were silky and filled with an initial shock of cold that caused goosebumps to raise on Will’s flesh when he slipped between them. Everything about the bed was luxurious, naturally, and Will felt out of place, as though he were soiling Hannibal’s place of rest. Will wondered if he would feel like such a wallflower in the bed if Hannibal were there next to him. He concurred with himself that no, he wouldn’t. It took him mere seconds to fall asleep. 

Instead of having night terrors, Will found himself spiraling through dreams that, while still dark in nature, carried an entirely different tune. Flashes of Hannibal’s mouth and teeth were still very present, though they no longer elicited feelings of dread. Will dreamed of fishing with Hannibal in a river of blood. There was laughter, and the feeling of Hannibal’s hand, stroking Will’s hair, massaging his scalp. Hot breath on the back of his neck.

Will woke with a start, breathing heavily. He counted the strikes of the clock in Hannibal’s room as it chimed, one, two, three, four. Four o’clock in the morning, the room still blanketed in darkness. Sighing, his head swimming with his dreams, Will rolled over from his side to his stomach. It was only then when he noticed the discomfort of his erection as it pressed firmly against the silk-covered mattress. 

Will was no longer in a position to deny his attraction to Hannibal. Not only that, but he no longer wanted to deny it. Years of suppressing the want of a physical intimacy with Hannibal had become too exhausting to continue, both mentally and physically. Will had never questioned his sexuality in the past; there had been no need. He had only found himself attracted to few people in his life, and they had happened to have been women. Until he met Hannibal. The attraction had been immediate and intense, and Will often wondered after he had learned what Hannibal was, if the sexual tension he felt around the other man had clouded his empathy and judgment. That curiosity was of no use to him anymore. 

Will tried to ignore his body’s urging, and he focused instead on his breathing in an effort to get back to sleep. In doing this, he inhaled deeply and slowly. His synapses fired as his lungs were filled with the scent of Hannibal’s shampoo and sweat, emanating from the pillows on the bed. Will groaned against his wishes, and without thinking, rolled onto his back and slipped his hand beneath the waistband of his pajama pants. A split second before touching himself, the fear of making a mess in Hannibal’s bed struck him. He pulled his pants off quickly, and lowered the sheets on the bed, so that he was no longer covered. Not wanting to take the time to go retrieve a towel, he thought that his pants would do fine in keeping the bed mess free.

Finally settled, Will closed his eyes, and breathed in deeply. He imagined Hannibal’s voice filling the air along with his scent, imagined his eyes twinkling black in the moonlight. He imagined Hannibal and himself, clutched together, drenched in the blood of the Dragon, and of each other. He imagined the scent of Hannibal’s blood, and he used his hand to grip himself tightly. He was rock hard, hot to the touch, and air seethed from between his teeth as he began to stroke. He had not thought it appropriate to pleasure himself under Hannibal’s roof during the time that they had been staying there, and he had nearly forgotten the feeling of being touched. His inhibitions gone, surrounded by silk and the scent of his cannibal, Will pumped into his hand with increasing speed and force. Lost in his own mind, his eyes squeezed shut, he didn’t notice the hallway light seep into the room as the door quietly opened. 

Feeling his approaching climax, Will imagined that it was Hannibal there with him, touching him, instead of himself. His heart pounding, he repeated the other man’s name under his breath. 

“Yes, dear William?”

Will’s eyes burst open, his head snapping in the direction of the doorway, where Hannibal was leaning against the frame, his hands in his pockets, his face completely stoic. Will stilled, filling with outrageous embarrassment, his hand still wrapped firmly around himself. Hannibal’s eyes twinkled, just as they had in his imagination.

“I did not intend for you to stop, Will.” 

It came out as a command, and Will swallowed in disbelief before slowly arching his hips upwards, and back down again. He watched Hannibal’s eyes move down his body, settling on watching Will pleasure himself. Will increased his pace, keeping his eyes on Hannibal. A slight gaping of his mouth and a low hum of approval from Hannibal was all that Will needed to be pushed over the edge. He groaned loudly when he came, no longer caring if he made a mess of Hannibal’s bed. He kept his eyes on Hannibal until he was completely finished, when Hannibal again met his gaze. The cannibal’s lips pulled back slightly at the edges.

“I hadn’t expected to be welcomed home quite like this.”

Breathing heavily, Will laughed. “Should I be apologizing, Hannibal?” As he expected, the other man shook his head. Will leaned back onto the pillow, catching his breath, trying hard not to cover his face now that he was coming back to the reality of the situation. He only had a moment to breathe, however, before he heard an odd noise coming from behind Hannibal and down the hall.

“Yes, right. I do understand that it is a rather inappropriate time in the morning for surprises, but that doesn’t change the fact that I have brought you a gift. Please, when you can, come with me into the den.” 

Will raced to put his pants on as Hannibal turned and walked out of the room and down the hall. Rolling out of bed, his frame of thinking not quite clear, he couldn’t help but wonder if Hannibal had brought him a dog of some kind. The thought warmed his belly as he followed Hannibal down the hallway, and into the living area.

Though Hannibal continued to walk further into the room when they arrived, Will stopped dead in his tracks, the sight before him slamming his psyche back to reality with great force. There, in the middle of the carpet, lay a young man. Will noted that his hands were zip tied together, and that he had been gagged with a cloth of some sort. It seemed as though he had been unconscious, but was now coming to. 

Hannibal could not stop himself from smiling as he watched Will observe the man on the floor. Not only had everything gone precisely has he had wanted them to over the last few days, but he had come home to a pleasant display of eroticism from Will, and was also able to present him with a gift. His body filled with a sense of pride and accomplishment when Will’s eyes finally met his own. Hannibal saw that Will’s pupils were blown completely, making his gaze appear to be a depthless black.

“For you, my dear Will. Shall we?”


	6. The Meaning of Murder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Instance of detailed description of violence in this chapter...and it certainly won't be the last time. It's going to be a pretty bloody ride on occasion from here on out. Our Murder Husbands are on the precipice of some major changes, and I can't wait to take them there!
> 
> I can't thank you guys enough for the positive feedback and encouragement. Most of all, thank you for still following along! The story has begun to write itself, and hopefully updates will be occurring with more frequency from this point forward.

As Will assisted Hannibal in hauling the man’s body down to the basement, he reminded himself that this would not be the first human life that he had snuffed out of existence. 

He struggled to acknowledge the word “murder” in his mind, as he knew the cold,clinical definition of the crime. “Murder,” he repeated in his head, “is the crime of unlawfully killing a person, especially with malice aforethought.” Something about the black and white description of the act of murder lacked meaning, and he knew that what he and Hannibal were about to do was going to mean something. It was going to mean something...paramount. 

Figuring that Hannibal would have the ability to spin the word into something more elegant, Will posed his question as they hoisted the man onto a cement work counter attached to one of the basement walls. “Hannibal, what do you intend for us to do?”

Rolling up the sleeves to his striped button up, Hannibal took a moment to ponder the question before providing him with an answer. 

“My intention is for you to learn from me as I teach you how to most precisely extract a human’s life from the meat of its body,” Hannibal said simply as he continuously moved about the cement slab, flicking on additional overhead lights, cutting the zip ties holding the man’s hands in place. Prior to Will piecing himself back together following the icy shock of the reveal of their victim, Hannibal had held a new rag of chloroform to the man’s nose until he had stopped the process of coming back into consciousness. This would not be a repeat of their slaughter of the Red beast; Hannibal recognized that a shift had occurred in Will, and along with it a need was born. Hannibal was familiar with his own need, though he had stopped thinking about his drive to kill as a need. It had been planted out of vengeance, and had grown from soil composed of impulse and an obsession to consume. In his later years, however, Hannibal acknowledged this drive to kill as a desire, one that he would not deny himself, as he had always been a man who indulged in things which pleased him. 

Will’s drive was barely born, however. It wasn’t new; Hannibal had always recognized the monster in Will Graham, from the moment they made eye contact sitting across a desk from Jack Crawford, years ago. Will’s acceptance of his nature was practically neonatal in that moment, and Hannibal knew that he wanted to start him off slowly, despite knowing that the anticipation beneath Will’s skin was likely screaming for violence, mayhem, and blood. Hannibal thought to himself that eventually, he would push Will to explore his every fantasy, both sexually and violently. For now, Will needed a mentor more than a partner. 

Once Hannibal had everything in its place, he looked up at Will, who had been silently observing his every move. He was slightly taken aback at the look of unadulterated adoration shining from the face of the younger man. Hannibal cocked his head, gently raised an eyebrow. 

“Are you feeling alright, Will?”

And Will smiled.

It was a smile unlike one Hannibal had ever witnessed, filled with joy, impatience, and wonder. Hannibal was unsure how to process the tightening of his windpipe and the dull ache in his chest where he knew his heart to be. For a heartbeat, he was certain that Will’s smile had broken a piece of him that had stood strong since...well, since Mischa. He pushed the thought aside.

“What was that, dear boy?” Hannibal asked after clearing his throat, pulling his gaze away from Will and realizing that he had not caught what the other man had said.

“I said that I knew you would find a very Hannibal Lecter way to explain what was about to happen. Also, since it’s come up, I find it insanely endearing when you use pet names, Hannibal.” In a manner far more calm and steady than Hannibal expected Will to be under the circumstances, he took a step closer to Hannibal and stood by his side, facing the man on the counter, their arms brushing. “I guess it is only fair to admit that as of late, I believe I have subconsciously been referring to you as “my cannibal” when I think of you.” 

Hannibal felt something warm stir in the pit of his belly at the sound of Will’s possessive label for him. Typically, he would feel agitated, perhaps even quietly enraged, should somebody refer to him as ‘theirs’. Of course, this was Will, and the statement made Hannibal want to give in to a far darker urge than taking the life of the man who lay before them. He wished to take Will Graham.

But that would have to wait. Alas, he had grown accustomed to waiting for such things. 

“I believe your use of the word 'endearing' fits very well with what you just shared with me, as well. I will most certainly entertain the thought of having a more in depth discussion of our monikers for one another, but perhaps at a less pressing time.” Hannibal could practically feel Will blushing beside him, and he felt satisfied.

“I want to show you the best way to preserve your meat. This morning, the life you take will not be an experience of passion or excitement, but rather a smooth and quiet lesson in what it means to simply extinguish the light from someone’s eyes. And I assure you,” he said, turning to Will, who was utterly silent and still, “his light deserves to be extinguished.” 

Hannibal stepped quickly behind Will, reaching for something at the man’s feet, on the counter. He produced a thick white rope, and handed it over to his pupil. “You’re going to tie both of his feet, to hang him from the beam above your head, and we are going to swivel his body so that it is hanging with his head to the floor. Following this, you are going to make an incision into his carotid artery, and his blood will flow into the collection drain, here. Once he has died, and not a moment after, as we still want some blood left in the body, I will show you how to properly dissect, dismember, and disarticulate him, in order to preserve as much good meat as possible. Unfortunately,” he added, a near afterthought, as he watched Will begin to slowly unravel the rope, “there will be some organs and tissue that will be no good to consume, due to the high amount of chloroform in his system. It is no matter; in the future, you will not need it at all, and this is a learning experience, as it were. Are you ready to begin?” 

Will eyed the rope in his hands, slowly licked his lips. His tongue appeared dry. Upon clearing his throat, he spoke quietly. 

“You make it seem so textbook, so...sterile.” The disappointment evident in his tone flooded Hannibal with bittersweet emotion. He motioned with a nod of his head for Will to begin, and observed his skilled knot tying as he tied the man’s feet together, and flung the open end of the rope over the solid beam above the counter. Will pulled the extra rope, and the man’s lower body raised from the table as he was pulled higher towards the ceiling. Once his feet reached the beam, Hannibal motioned for Will to tie the open end of the rope to one of the steel support beams beneath the cement counter top. Will wordlessly complied. Hannibal assisted Will in swinging the man’s torso from the cement slab, so that his head was a mere two feet or so above the basement floor, his body stabilized by the purposefully placed counter’s edge where his lower back rested. 

Noticing that his arms had flopped and that his fingertips were brushing the ground, Will wondered aloud why Hannibal had cut the zip ties.

“After you make the incision in the throat, you can also expose and dissect the veins of the wrist. It will make for a quicker process. We just want to ensure that as much blood flows into the collection drain as possible, as it’s uses are endless. Now, in a moment, the man will start to wake up, due to the time that has passed and the change in direction of blood flow.” Hannibal held out a surgical scalpel in Will’s direction. Will took it from him, a small tremor noticeable in his hand. To be expected, Hannibal thought. 

“Come, Will.”

Hannibal crouched close to the ground, on the side of the man, and motioned for Will to join him. Will did so, positioning himself on his knees in front of where Hannibal was crouched. 

“Using two fingers, press into the spot where his earlobe meets the back of his jaw, and move your fingers down diagonally towards the center of his throat, as you would do to find your own pulse. Once you’ve located a strong pulse point, replace your fingers with the blade of the scalpel and await my instruction.”

Will did as he was told, and had no issues in locating the artery. The scalpel in place, Hannibal heard Will swallow loudly. Hannibal crouched closer to him, his chest to his back, and rested his chin on Will’s shoulder. Will's entire body was shaking, ever so gently.

“His eyes are opening, Will, you see?” Will nodded almost imperceptibly. “Earlier, you sounded dismayed when you stated that my description of what would unfold sounded textbook and clinical. Here is the fire though, Will. I am going to help you push the blade into his flesh at the correct angle, and then together, we are going to watch his eyes until you feel the moment when you have taken from him what nobody else will ever be able to take from him again. Do you understand?”

Will felt his heart pounding. His body felt as though it were made of brittle leaves in the fall, scattered and delicate. Hannibal’s breath was warm in his ear and his words sent waves of heat into his cells. He was filled with a dry, burning anticipation that he had never known. 

He found that his grip on the scalpel steadied when Hannibal leaned over and covered his hand with his own. Will focused on where the blade met flesh, rather than the man’s open and wondering eyes. He was ready. He was willing. He NEEDED this release.

“I understand, Hannibal...please…” Will’s voice escaped in a whimper.

Immediately, Hannibal guided Will’s hand in an elegant motion, forward and slightly upward. Will felt little resistance as the blade entered the man’s throat, and could not tear his eyes away as he watched the small, deadly silver head bury itself and almost immediately exit the same wound, covered in red. The man’s blood flowed with gravity, pulsing. Without thinking, Will reached out and held his fingers under the warm stream. He kept them there as Hannibal moved slowly to the sides of him, making small but effective incisions into the man’s wrists. 

It was quiet in the basement as the two killers watched the life seep quickly and smoothly out of the man before them. 

After the life in his eyes disappeared, Hannibal pulled the man’s body back onto the cement slab, and cut the rope to the man’s feet, causing them to thud loudly back onto the counter. The sound snapped Will out of his trance-like state, and he gazed down at his red and bloodied fingers. Hesitating first, he put the tip of one of his fingers into his mouth. He closed his eyes and dissected the tangy taste with his tongue, cataloguing the moment into the deepest, safest closet in his mind. 

When Will opened his eyes, he was startled to find Hannibal standing directly in front of him, observing, as he was prone to doing. Finding it the natural thing to do, Will raised his hand to Hannibal’s lips. Hannibal opened his mouth a tiny bit, and Will slipped his bloody fingers inside. Will could barely feel his body as he watched Hannibal close his mouth around three of his fingers. Hannibal’s eyes closed, he sucked gently, and Will realized that he had stopped breathing, that his heart was swollen, that his body was on fire.

Hannibal kept his eyes closed for a moment even after Will’s fingers were gone from his tongue, and Will kept quiet about the fact that when he finally opened them, they were red and wet with tears that he did not let fall.


	7. A Time for Slumber and Preparation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quiet moment before they take off running. A bit of violence and fluff!

By noon, Will was so exhausted that he could hardly function. 

The amount of adrenaline, emotion, and energy that he had exerted over the previous 8 hours had left his body feeling hungover and weak. The process of cleaning the man’s body under Hannibal’s instruction had been elating and simultaneously overwhelming. Will’s empathy always existed in some form; though he did not feel guilty about killing this man, the visceral experience of cutting him limb from limb reminded Will of his own humanity. His, and Hannibal’s. 

They had already dismembered the limbs and head from the torso and had started disarticulating the bones from their joints before Will mustered the desire to ask who the man was. Hannibal did not hesitate to answer. 

“When you are a man with a history such as mine, and a large pool of financial resources, one of the benefits is that you join into a network of others who are willing to provide services for you that not all citizens get to enjoy.” Hannibal wiped sweat off of his brow with the back of his hand as he continued. “I have been working with a man called Seamus ever since I came to this country. He has assisted me in many endeavors that aren’t considered legal, such as the procurement of this home, off the grid and off of paper.” He held a clean towel to Will, who was covered in various bodily fluids and looking quite exasperated. 

“When I made my way to a telephone in the city, I contacted him in need of documents to get us out of the country. While he was willing to provide them for us, he was not willing to meet me for the hand off. It appears that you and I are still very much wanted men, Will.” At that statement, their eyes met and Will grinned, evoking a genuine grin from Hannibal himself. He passed Will a cleaver. “That being said, for his own safety, he informed me that he would be sending one of his underlings to provide me with our documents. That is who we have here.” Hannibal stuffed the man’s now cheekless head into a large black garbage bag. 

“There has to be a reason for killing him other than opportunity,” Will said, putting the cleaver down and stacking pieces of meat off to the side. 

Hannibal hummed in acknowledgement. “Of course. When the man got into the car, he recognized me quite quickly. It didn’t take very long for him to try to extort money from me in order to keep my presence in the city a secret.” 

Will paused. “Hannibal, you can be positively terrifying should you choose to be. A threat wouldn’t have worked in this situation, or a call to his boss?” 

“Will, no. Put the lungs into this bag. They won't be good to eat.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, tired.”

“That’s quite alright.” Hannibal held the bag open. “Those tactics may have worked fine, until he also threatened to expose you. He could not be allowed to live after that.”

Will remained silent for the remainder of their preparation of the body, not knowing how to properly acknowledge the feelings of gratitude and awe that he was experiencing. He wondered if Hannibal had ever killed to protect anybody else besides himself. He selfishly hoped that he hadn’t. 

In the end, Hannibal scrutinized Will’s work, tossing out cuts of meat that were not up to his standards. He did not appear annoyed, or frustrated, as he tossed cuts filled with splintered bone or sinew. Will felt mildly ashamed, as though he had not lived up to Hannibal’s expectations. When the Doctor was finished, before them lay a small stack of meat that Will had extracted perfectly. As Will opened his mouth to apologize for the waste, Hannibal put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Well done, my friend,” he whispered, as though they were kneeling together in church. “You will only get better from here.” 

Will did his best to not beam with pride. He was unsuccessful.

Hannibal guided him through the process of packing the meat, which entailed placing the cut into a plastic food saver bag, dousing it with excess blood, and vacuum sealing it off with a standard food saving kitchen appliance. Hannibal carried all of the meat upstairs to put into the refrigerator before returning to the basement to assist Will in cleaning the remaining mess. Will did not have to inquire about why all of the meat went upstairs; it went without saying that they would be leaving, very soon. 

When they were finished, it was lunchtime. While Will was trying to keep his eyes open, Hannibal was busying himself in the kitchen as though he had siphoned all of the energy from the other man for himself. Will slumped at the dining room table and tried to process his morning. He struggled with acknowledging the reality of what had unfolded. Hannibal watching him masterbate in his bed, killing and essentially filleting the man that he was now apparently going to eat. Will ached to be more present in the moment, but felt entirely overwhelmed.

“Let me feed you, my friend, and then we will get you off to sleep,” Hannibal said, jerking Will back into the present. He managed a nod, and felt himself perk up a bit when Hannibal set a plate in front of him. It looked like brunch, with an English muffin, eggs, ham, and an off color hollandaise. Will knew that the meat was not pork, and with his first bite he also realized what was causing the odd coloration of the sauce.

“You mixed his blood into it,” he said aloud, and he heard himself giggle. Hannibal looked bemused across the table from him, daintily eating his food in small, concise bites.

“Is there something funny about that, Will?”

Will shook his head, took another bite. “No, not really. Not funny. I just, I often wonder how many people I have actually eaten, how much blood was mixed into my food and coffee during the years of our courtship.” He continued to eat, barely noticing that Hannibal had halted.

“It was a courtship, then?” Hannibal asked slowly, as though unsure if he were asking a question or making a statement. Will smiled and simply nodded, draining his glass of milk and clearing the last bit of sauce off of the plate with his fingertip.

“Was it not? Because it always felt that way to me. You, with your suaveness, creating your tableaus to impress me. Admit it; that’s what you wanted to do. You wanted to impress me, to unlock and unleash me.” Will didn’t wait for an answer and instead stood up from the table to take his dishes to the sink. He heard the agitation simmering in his voice, and knew that it wouldn’t slip past Hannibal undetected. He couldn’t even pinpoint why he was aggravated, and chalked it up to exhaustion and emotional heaviness. He bent forward, resting his elbows on the edge of the sink, his head in his hands. 

“I’m sorry, Hannibal. I don’t know why I’m being pissy with you. I think...I think I just have to lay down. Or maybe shower first. Because, as you can see, I’ve managed to cover myself in viscera and somehow, you’ve managed to avoid spilling a drop of it on yourself. You’ll have to teach me that trick, someday.” He felt himself sinking to the floor as he spoke, his words becoming slurred around the edges. Before his knees hit the floor, Hannibal was there, his strong arms under his armpits, supporting his weight. 

“I think sleep first. You can worry about getting cleaned up later.”

Will nodded, allowed Hannibal to loop an arm around him, to help guide him out of the kitchen and down the hallway. He didn’t have the strength (or desire) to protest as they walked past his room, into Hannibal’s. He slumped onto the side of Hannibal’s bed as the older man softly shut the bedroom door.

“Alright, William. I am going to help you undress, and then I’m going to get you into the bed. If you would prefer, I can sleep elsewhere, though I promise that I will leave you to yourself should you allow me to share my bed with you. I could spin a falsehood and say that I’m worried and want to look after you, but to be truthful I think I simply desire to sleep beside you, in my bed. Would that be okay?” 

Silence stretched between them, a firm and long silence. A silence of such length left Hannibal feeling something that he despised; vulnerability crept up his spinal column in waves. It wasn’t until Will looked upwards, directly into him, with an undeniable tenderness, that Hannibal could again draw a breath. 

“Of course it was a courtship, Hannibal,” Will stated, his voice calm as he pulled at the hem of his shirt with both hands, flinging it into corner when it was over his head. Hannibal found that he actually didn’t mind the messy action in the slightest. “It was a courtship, with you manipulating me, and me allowing you to do just that. Because I wanted you to. I think a part of me always, ALWAYS knew that it was you, because your crimes exuded brilliance, and tact, and a beauty that I always associated with you. I think I’m bitter because I just wanted you to tell me that you were trying to impress me. What was it that you said to me, a few months back? That your compassion for me was inconvenient? Well, it was inconvenient to me too, Hannibal, because I thought I was imagining it. I thought I was imagining that you were always looking at me from the corner of your eyes, that you would smile when I said something clever. Because why would you pay attention to me? Why would I matter, if I wasn’t going to just be used as a pawn? That’s where my bitterness lies, Hannibal. In the fact that if you hadn’t put on a grand old show, if you would have just let me know, I could have avoided so much. So much self-doubt, so much heartbreak. I had a wife, Hannibal. I technically still do. I could have avoided hurting them, my family. You and I, we could have been...we could have been here, together, so long ago. It just feels like wasted time, that’s all.” 

Will stood up and pulled off his pajama pants, leaving him bare, save for a few spots of blood here and there that had seeped through his clothing. He stood there, in front of Hannibal, watched his eyes drift to the scar on his abdomen. He felt it in his blood that Hannibal was actually speechless, had been thrown off guard. Sighing, Will slipped into the bed, pulling the covers over his body.

“Hannibal, so help me God if you don’t get into this bed.”

He let himself smile, a small smile, when he heard the shifting of clothing and movement behind his back. He turned around and faced the far side of the room, where Hannibal was folding his shirt carefully, before placing it on the dresser. Moving at an excruciatingly slow pace, he lifted his legs out of his pants, folded them, and added them to the pile. Remaining in a pair of black boxer briefs, Hannibal approached the bed, threw back the sheets, and climbed in beside Will. 

For a few minutes, the men were still, laying beside each other on their backs, no part of their bodies touching. The amount of uncertainty and physical and mental exhaustion that hung in the air was nearly suffocating, and yet, Will found that he liked the feeling. Gone was his fear, his insecurities, his doubts. His cannibal was laying in bed beside him, exposed in a way that he had yet to witness. His body too exhausted to react to Hannibal sexually, he found that his heart pumped with strong energy when he reached out and took Hannibal’s hand, under the sheets. Their fingers wove together tightly, emanating warmth from the center of the mattress. The read that Will was getting from Hannibal was surprisingly emotional. It was a new experience for the empath, at least where his companion was concerned. 

Both men nearly asleep, it was Will who broke the fragility of the moment. 

“Wait. Earlier, when you were telling me about the man, did you say that he got into your car?”

Hannibal let out a huff of amused laughter. “Well, Special Agent Graham, that took you awhile.” 

Will shook his head, incredulous. It would take him awhile to get used to a Hannibal who felt free to crack jokes, to be sarcastic in a way that was not necessarily cruel or manipulative. 

“I found the Dragon’s police car, not too far down the road. It was off of a side street, pulled into a low ditch. Luckily for me, the keys were still in the ignition. I doubt he expected to return to the car, after all.”

Will turned towards him. “So, there’s a car outside the house right now, and you have the keys to it. That’s what you’re telling me?”

Hannibal returned his gaze. “Yes, that is what I’m telling you. I’ve been making mention about getting ready to travel soon, and you haven’t yet approached the topic. Are you curious as to where we’ll be going?” Will nodded before Hannibal was able to finish his sentence. 

“Well, it’s Sunday afternoon right now. On Tuesday morning, we’ll be taking the car to the private lot of the airport, outside of the city. Our flight will be a small one, with not too many passengers. By nightfall here, we’ll be getting off of the airplane in France, in a city about 30 miles from Paris. There’s a house there for us, a place where I can practice psychiatry under my new name. I have all of my documents in order. And you...well, I suppose you can decide what you would like to do. But that is where we’re heading, unless you can find a reason to object.”

Will was silent, for fear that his emotions would spring forward in a way that he could not control. He swallowed before he responded.

“So, what you’re saying is that we’re going to run away to Paris together, to start over? To have a life where we can...do this, what we did together this morning?”

He felt Hannibal extend his arm above his own head and, taking the invitation, Will crawled closer to him, resting his curly hair on Hannibal’s shoulder. He felt Hannibal’s fingertips run gently, back and forth, over his side and his back. His fingertips left trails of electricity in their wake.

“That’s exactly what I’m saying, William. It’s what I’ve always wanted for you...for us.”

Will’s chest tightened exponentially. He remembered Hannibal speaking those words the him before, following their first kill together. He wanted to kiss him, oh, how he wanted to.

Instead, he buried himself into Hannibal’s shoulder, getting comfortable, thinking of France. The danger and excitement of fleeing would hit him at a later time, but in that moment, he simply wanted to sleep. There was one last thing that he couldn’t stop focusing on, something hindering him from drifting away into unconsciousness. 

“Hannibal, you are aware that we’re getting ready to sleep in sheets that are covered with my DNA, right? You do remember this morning? I figured I would remind you.”

A beautiful sound, Hannibal’s laughter.


	8. Belonging to Home

Will was grateful to have the freedom to stand outside in the rain.

The cool droplets made his simple navy t-shirt cling to his body as it fell, hard and slanted. The drops that hit his exposed flesh stung a bit, but he didn’t mind at all. In fact, he raised his arms up towards the gray sky, eager to get as close to the water as possible. For a moment he hesitated; the urge to run, spin, and hop into puddles pulled at him from somewhere in the memory of his childhood. He chose to stay rooted to the earth beneath his feet instead.

Hannibal watched him from the doorway as he sipped from a nearly empty glass of Merlot. It was already dusk, the heavily clouded sky appearing as though night had already fallen. He knew that sleep would not come upon either of them any time soon; the energy surrounding their move not only filled the space between them, but also coated every surface of their new home. 

The day before had been exhausting and seemed as though it would never come to a close. They had left their dwelling on the edge of the world early in the morning, each of them with just one item of luggage, comprised largely of clothing and little else. The drive to the local airport outside of the city had been a quiet one, filled with thick tension and anxiety. The emotions wound up proving to be pointless; Hannibal’s connection in the city, Seamus, had set them up on a non-stop flight to Paris on the smallest plane that Will had ever boarded. Aside from the two of them, the pilot and co-pilot, there were five other men on the plane. Will felt as though they must share some commonalities, that they too were escaping or on the run. The flight was entirely silent, all passengers avoiding looking at one another directly, keeping their space. Neither Will nor Hannibal had spoken, not even to each other. Will spent the 10 hour flight with his eyes closed, either drifting or contemplating; whenever he glanced over at Hannibal, he was seemingly content with being inside of his own head, his eyes continuously fixed on one spot. Will wished that he could know what was happening in that mind. Only for a moment did he wish.

Hannibal had kept a close eye on Will after the plane had landed on a private airport southeast of Paris. He sensed that Will was experiencing feelings akin to panic. Hannibal did not share these feelings, as he was confident in Seamus’ ability to have scheduled them a smooth and not at all extraordinary transition to their new home, but he could understand Will’s feelings, regardless. Will was not used to evading the authorities, nor was he used to breaking so many laws in such a short amount of time. Hannibal’s lifestyle was one to which Will would have to grow accustomed over time. 

They had arrived to the airport in France after 11:00 pm local time. An unmarked taxi was waiting for them on the side of the airport runway, as Hannibal was expecting. Their luggage in the backseat, the two men sat in the back seat during the half-hour drive to their destination. Will had stared out of the window for the duration of the drive, and Hannibal had stared at Will, watching him observe his new surroundings. At some point during the drive, Will had made a random exclamation.

“It smells different, here.”

Will still facing the window, Hannibal could not decipher his tone. 

“Oh? Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?”

Will had not answered Hannibal’s question. Rather, he reached his right hand blindly across the space between them, finding Hannibal’s left, intertwining their fingers. Their hands remained in tact for the remainder of the drive to their new home, a sprawling two-story Tudor style house tucked behind the trees on the outskirts of Saint-Germain-en-Laye. Hannibal had easily located the key to the door, and felt something akin to excitement when he opened the door for the first time. Though the house was basically empty and sparsely furnished, he could see the potential of the structure, as could Will, who immediately dropped his luggage in the entrance and began commenting on updates that he could make to the home, including staining the hardwood floors and finishing the molding around the front door. Hannibal had nodded along with whatever his partner said; it only took moments for exhaustion to set in, spurring them to look for a place to sleep. Sleep they had, each in a separate twin sized bed in two of the bedrooms that they had found upstairs. 

They had both uncharacteristically slept well into the following afternoon. When they woke up, neither bothered to change, and Hannibal took it upon himself to order them sandwiches from a delivery service closer to the heart of their city. After eating and exploring the innards of the home, Will had immediately thrown on shoes to explore the outside; something that he could do now without the fear of exposing himself to undesirable parties.

Hannibal drained the rest of his wine and sighed, leaning into the doorway. His sigh caught the attention of his younger counterpart, who glanced backwards at him and grinned, almost sheepishly. Hannibal returned the smile before turning and heading back into the house, to refill his glass. He paused when he heard Will yell from the front yard.

“Hannibal! HANNIBAL! Come out here. The water’s great!” 

Hannibal paused. He could ignore the younger man’s calling and could finish off the bottle of Merlot, perhaps crack into one of the others that he had found in a small wine cellar in the basement. Or he could surprise both himself and Will, and go play in the rain. 

He decided to do both.

Moments later, Hannibal, barefoot and in a soft maroon sweater, stepped beside Will in the rain, and handed over a glass of wine. Without words, the two clinked their glasses and swallowed deeply. 

“Won’t the rain taint the taste of the wine?” Will asked, apparently not caring too much as he took another sip. 

Hannibal thought for a moment. “I don’t know if taint would be the correct word. It will change the taste certainly, but who is to say that it will be for the worse?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Will smile and shake his curls. He reminded Hannibal of a shaggy haired dog, all wet curls and puppy eyes.

“So what’s the plan, Hannibal? Life can’t be all wine, rain, and murder, right? There has to be more for us to do than indulge.” 

Hannibal thought for a moment. “Though that does sound tempting, you’re correct. Once we are able to get the house furnished and presentable, I will be able to see clients in the side room for steady income, and appearances. And, of course, because I enjoy my practice. Getting this place in shape may take some time, and we require many things. I am thinking that we will go into the city very soon, to start purchasing furniture, and supplies, and of course plenty of clothing. And you, Monsieur Harris, will have to decide what it is you would like to do. Certainly being an FBI special agent is out of the question, but teaching may not be.” His voice held a teasing tone. Will grimaced at the pseudonym. 

“I’m sure I can figure something out, Monsieur Harris,” Will bit back, his tone coming across more tenderly than he had intended. It was the first time that he had acknowledged the identical last names on their new documents. “Or maybe I should call you Christopher?”

Will startled as Hannibal let out a stream of pure laughter. “It is a deeper cover, having the same last name, you and I. The FBI won’t be looking for a married couple, my dear James.”

Will shook his head, his wet hair sticking to his cheeks and forehead. “Christopher and James Harris. We sound so...boring.”

Hannibal reached out and cleared Will’s hair from his face. “We are anything but boring.” Will leaned into Hannibal’s palm, much like a cat wanting to be pet. 

“Are you going to parade me around Paris? I can see it already. You, making bourgeois acquaintances, dragging me along to dinner parties and the opera. I can practically feel a bowtie around my throat already.” Will met Hannibal’s eyes and winked, indicating that he was teasing. The wink warmed Hannibal, even in the rain, and he stepped in closer to Will, the space between them barely existent. 

“I do enjoy the opera, Will. And I would certainly gloat unbearably, to have you on my arm. I am more inclined to look forward to accompanying you in a different activity altogether, however.” 

Will felt his cheeks burn, and knew that he had reddened. Afraid to misconstrue Hannibal’s meaning, he decided to error on the side of not humiliating himself. 

“A partner in crime, finally, Hannibal.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement, an exclamation. It deepened the pools in Hannibal’s eyes. 

“That is an experience that I have only shared with you, William. That is a piece of me that is not easily malleable. You may have to be patient with me as I adapt to having, as you said, a partner in crime. A new system will have to be developed, and we will have growing pains, I’m sure. But yes, I look forward to accompanying you and assisting you to grow into the beautiful predator that you are.” 

Will’s heart pounded loudly in his chest, the beats sturdy and erratic. He was magnetized to the man in front of him, to his Ripper. It only took a slight action, a small movement of his body, before he was in Hannibal’s arms. He buried his forehead into the wet fabric of Hannibal’s sweater, his hands wrapping themselves around the other man’s waist, overlapping over the small of Hannibal’s back. A lump formed in Will’s throat when Hannibal did not hesitate in returning his embrace, curling one arm around Will’s back and the other around his shoulder, his hand resting at the nape of Will’s neck.

“I’ve never belonged anywhere, Hannibal.”

A beat of silence passed between them. “Not even when you taught? Or in Wolf Trap?” Hannibal’s voice was not urgent; his questions escaped in a slow, soft rumble that Will felt in his chest.

Will appreciated that Hannibal had not asked if he had felt as though he had belonged with his wife. “I could never teach them how I wanted to teach them. They couldn’t have made the leaps that I made; there is no way to truly teach empathy and the skills that come along with that, at a crime scene. And Wolf Trap belonged to the dogs. You know that.”

Hannibal chuckled. “My hope is that you will feel as though you belong here, with me. I know that our family is...incomplete, and for that, I apologize to you and am grateful for your forgiveness. I am selfish, Will. You know this. I want to be your only need.”

Instead of pulling away, Will nuzzled closer into Hannibal’s chest, tightened his grip.

“Well, you manipulative bastard, you know how to get what you want.”

Will felt proud at the quickening of Hannibal’s heartbeat against his collarbone. Hannibal pulled back slightly, to be able to meet Will’s eyes.

“May I kiss you, Will?”

Will froze, his stomach dropping as though free falling. He shivered inadvertently, due to Hannibal’s statement or the chill of the now drizzling rain; he was unsure which. On top of his sudden anxiety, he was also absorbing the nerves and uncertainty that was rolling off of Hannibal. It caused him to feel overwhelmed and entirely overpowered and perplexed.

Hannibal, as though instinctively, took a small step back, his hands on Will’s shoulders. “I apologize. My eagerness has gotten the better of me. I will not ask again. I will wait for you, alright, Will?” 

He was unable to meet Hannibal’s eyes. He cursed his empathy, cursed himself for being too vulnerable and unstable to accept something that he knew he truly wanted. Staring at the grass beneath his feet, he nodded. Hannibal clapped him on the shoulder, and guided him back into the house to dry.

A few hours later, following showers and changing into clean, dry clothes, Hannibal and Will lay in their respective bedrooms, in their respective twin beds, separated by a wall. Neither of them slept, and were both in fact borderline uncomfortable due to having overindulged in the leftovers of their deli take-out and wine for dinner. The rooms, though curtainless, were pitch black, and Will found himself to be unsettled.

Hannibal did not get out of his bed, even when he heard the sounds of thudding and scraping from the other room. He remained quiet, even as he watched Will lug the comically small mattress into his own room. Will let the mattress fall to the floor and left the room, only to reenter a moment later, his pillow and blankets in tow. He tucked himself onto the mattress and covered himself with the blankets. It was at that moment that Hannibal chose to speak.

“Trouble sleeping, Will?”

Will let out an audible groan. “I thought you were sleeping.”

“You weren’t exactly being stealthy. Besides, no, I wasn’t asleep.”

Will was quiet for a moment. “I suppose I wasn’t trying to be silent. I wanted you to be awake. I wanted to ask you something.”

Hannibal climbed out of his bed, and in one swift motion pulled his mattress quietly to the floor, beside Will’s. He adjusted himself in the bed, facing Will’s voice.

“You don’t have to do that, Hannibal.”

“It’s rude not to give your full attention when somebody is speaking. What’s your question?”

WIll struggled with his wording. “I’m...I’m physically full from earlier. I ate and drank until I thought I was going to burst, because I couldn’t fill this...space, that I have inside of me. Is that...do you know...is my body craving human meat?”

Hannibal hummed beside him. “I understand the sensation you’re talking about. I ensure you, I have felt it myself. Whether it is a physical or mental craving for flesh, it is there. You’re hungry.”

“Yes, I’m hungry.”

Silence. Long moments of silence, until Hannibal whispered into the darkness.

“I’m hungry too, Will. We will be fulfilled soon. You have my word.”


	9. Household Necessities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I get off on domestic fluff, and have wanted to write this chapter for so long, so it's a bit of self-indulgence on my part! Once the boys are settled in, the real fun begins, and I can't wait. Though things are going well, conflict IS around the corner within the next few chapters. Not to mention smut (I apologize, but I love a slow burn). Thanks to everyone for the support and for continuing to invest in this story with me; it means the world.

Will had always been curious about Hannibal’s wealth, but never as curious as he was until he spent a day with Hannibal shopping in Paris. 

It wasn’t Will’s first time in Paris, but he found that it felt very different to walk around the city as a suburbanite rather than a tourist. In his heart and mind, of course, he felt as though he was a tourist; he gaped at landmarks and wanted to eat at every restaurant, wanted to step inside every storefront. There would be time for these things, according to Hannibal, but in the meantime, they had much to do.

It was a Saturday, and they had lived in their home for four days. In that time, Hannibal had internet services set up in the house, which he used to order new kitchen appliances from the tablet that he had brought with him from the cliff side. Will found it humorous, that the first concern had been purchasing outlandishly expensive stainless steel appliances for the kitchen instead of new beds, a car, or even a lawnmower. As humorous as it had been, Will found himself appreciative when the items were delivered to the home the next day, leading them to the local grocer in order to stock up the refrigerator with colorful vegetables and bright red cuts of meat. Hannibal appeared to be lighter here, in their kitchen, again able to cook for them instead of relying on food from others. Will continued to help in the kitchen with a new ease and confidence that had not existed before. 

They felt invisible and safe from the rest of the world. 

Will did not have to fret about their other necessities that they would need. Hannibal took care of them over the course of one day. Will tagged along, mostly perplexed at the huge amount of money that was being spent seemingly without a second thought. They took a cab from their home to a bank in the morning on Saturday; by noon, Hannibal had purchased a car with cash, a sleek black sedan that had been more expensive than the cars that Will had ever owned combined, though it had boasted a mid-range price point compared to some of the exotic vehicles that had been available at the dealership. 

Hannibal seemed at home on the roads of Paris and its surrounding suburbs as they completed their necessary stops, including shops that smelled of oak and sold velvet and leather covered furniture. With Will’s blessing, Hannibal made all of the decisions regarding furniture, curtains, and decor. Will found that he gravitated towards outdoor furniture and slunk in between patio sets, outdoor bars, and stained-wood lounging chairs as Hannibal made his purchases and delivery arrangements. 

Midday Saturday, Hannibal found Will in the back of a sprawling furniture warehouse laying on a wicker bench, his arms folded at his chest, eyes closed. Hannibal thought for a moment that he could see Will as he had been in his youth, well rested and carefree. It pained Hannibal to stir him from his relaxed state. 

“James, I’m finished here. If you’re hungry, let’s get something to eat. I would like to get additional clothes for us, as well as update our mattress situation, before the end of the day. Would that be alright?”

Will opened his eyes slowly and stretched his limbs. He reached an arm out to Hannibal, who helped pull him to his feet.

“You’re the driver. Can we get crepes?”

Hannibal allowed himself to smile.

“Of course.”

They ate at a cafe that was within walking distance of the furniture store. For a moment, Will had walked on eggshells, as a police officer held the door open for both of them on their way out. Will ducked his head and shook his curls; Hannibal met the officer’s eyes and thanked him in flawless French. Hannibal set a light hand on the small of Will’s back on their way to the car.

“You don’t have to worry here. Nobody is looking for us.”

“We found you in Italy, Hannibal. The FBI, and Mason Verger. They could find us if they wanted. They probably have their feelers out in Europe. Although, they may assume that you wouldn’t run as close to Italy as you have...I don’t know. I feel like we should be being more careful.”

The men got into their car, though Hannibal didn’t start it immediately. Instead, he leaned back against the headrest in the car and looked over at his partner. “Well, if you wish to be more careful, perhaps you should begin by calling me Christopher when we’re not at home.” Hannibal’s mouth turned up in the corners, and Will laughed in spite of himself.

Will should have been able to predict that clothes shopping with Hannibal would be an...experience. He followed Hannibal into an antique looking building on a busy Paris corner and was quickly surrounded by suits, ties, and shirts that shone and practically sparkled in the soft lighting of the store. Hannibal seemed at home, conversing easily with the shop assistant, who immediately started grabbing items from hangers and shelves. The man’s arms were filled within minutes with pants, shirts, and jackets. Will reached out and looked at the price tag of an off white cashmere sweater hanging from a rack beside him. He felt himself grimace at the price tag. 

“James? James? James!”

Will snapped to attention and walked towards Hannibal’s voice. Stepping around a corner, he found Hannibal in a small room with a round podium in the center, floor-to-ceiling mirrored walls. Hannibal stood in the center of the podium in a pair of black dress slacks, shirtless. Will averted his eyes from Hannibal’s body. He did, however, allow himself to gaze at the multiple angles available for him to gaze upon in the reflections of the mirrors. 

“I would appreciate your assistance, if you would.” Hannibal pointed towards a rack against one of the walls, on which hung the clothing chosen by the shop assistant. Will flicked through the clothes before plucking a dark brown silk button up shirt from it’s hanger and stepping up behind Hannibal on the podium. He held the shirt open, assisting Hannibal in shrugging into it. When Hannibal did not put his arms down, Will moved to step in front of him. Slowly, feeling the fabric and buttons against his fingertips, Will buttoned Hannibal’s shirt. He struggled with keeping his breathing steady; the act felt intimate, so intimate.

“Did you ever imagine that you would be dressing me?” Hannibal asked quietly, his eyes on the mirror in front of him. Observing.

“Honestly? No. Most of my thoughts involving you, me, and clothing have typically consisted of doing just the opposite.” Will spoke without thinking, finding it refreshing to not have to filter his words. Hannibal reacted to the statement with a small nod. Will stepped off of the podium to give Hannibal a better view of himself in the clothing.

“It suits you well,” Will commented, his eyes following the curves of Hannibal’s body in the fine fabrics. He felt his cock stir in his own jeans and fought the urge to palm himself through the denim. He looked away, cleared his throat.

“The shop hand informed me that there is more casual wear upstairs, James. Please, if you can find clothing that you like, pick out whatever you want. I may be down here for awhile, so take your time. Indulge, please.”

Will gave a curt nod and stepped quickly out of the room, grateful for being given an out. His comfort with Hannibal increased every day, and his control was diminishing. He didn’t think that this was a bad thing, but he also did not want to attack Hannibal in a public place.

Will made his way up the stairs easily enough, and found that Hannibal had been correct. He was able to pick out multiple pairs of jeans and lounge pants, as well as soft cotton shirts, an array of flannel button ups, and a caramel brown leather jacket that was not typically his taste. He had just shrugged the jacket on over his own clothing when he heard Hannibal clear his throat behind him. 

“I think that should come home with us, Wi….James, dear.” 

Will smiled. “Uh-oh. He’s letting the cover slip!”

Hannibal nearly grinned. “To be fair, I was a bit distracted. That jacket fits you like a second skin. I trust you have found some new clothes for yourself?”

Will motioned to the pile that he had accumulated at the counter. Hannibal looked pleased, and went to pay for the clothing. Will followed him to the register and removed the tag from the inner sleeve of the jacket once there, for the cashier to scan. He wanted to wear the jacket out; it made him feel a little bit more like somebody that belonged next to Hannibal’s side.

They left the clothing store with an embarrassing amount of bags between them. Will felt light, happy, and….typical. There were people everywhere around them on the sidewalks, chatting, sipping coffee, holding hands, smoking. Nobody paid them any attention as they weaved through the crowd. They were just a couple of friends out in the city, shopping and enjoying themselves. It was an exercise in normality for Will, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that it couldn’t be that easy. Life was never easy.

When they found their way back to the car to unload their bags, the sun had started to set. Hannibal hissed when he checked the time on his phone, a new toy that he had purchased earlier in the day (a set of them, one for Will as well). 

“It’s 7:30. I would like to get our mattresses tonight, but I fear we may not have time unless we hurry. We’ll have to make some pretty quick decisions; are you okay with this?”

Will slid into the car and buckled his seat belt. “Let’s do it.”

Hannibal began to drive out of Paris, in the direction of home. The ride was silent save for the GPS giving directions and low piano music coming through the satellite radio in the car. Neither man felt the need to fill the silence, though both noticed a blanket of tension between them. Will was the one to cease their conversational stalemate when they pulled into the parking lot of their last stop of the day, another sprawling furniture store that also sold mattresses and bedroom sets. Hannibal killed the engine and went to immediately swing the car door open to exit; Will stopped him by putting his hand on the other man’s elbow.

“Sorry. I know that we have less than an hour and that you’re eager to get this done, because I’m certain that you aren’t really enjoying sleeping on a small mattress on the floor, but to be fair I told you to sleep in your own bed, but did you listen? Why would you do that? I swear, it’s ridicul…”

“You’re rambling, William.”

Will paused, swallowed. Took a breath.

“When we go in here, what are we looking for? Our house has four rooms, not including the side room for your office. We’ve been sleeping in one room, in separate beds here, or should I say on separate mattresses at least, but we shared your bed during those last nights back in the states and...are we going in here as two different men who share a house together, and who have their own rooms, or are we going in here as “The Harris’,” who, as a married couple, naturally shop for only one bed to share?”

Hannibal didn’t answer immediately. In his mind, he knew what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell Will that he had been using the term “mattresses,” plural, throughout the day as a way to stave off this conversation until it needed to be had. He wanted to tell Will that it was his intention to purchase one mattress this evening, that he found the thought of going back to sleeping alone without Will Graham in his bed to be ludicrous. He wanted to say that the previous night had been nearly sleepless for him, as he could not stop the intrusive thoughts regarding christening the bed with Will from interjecting themselves into his dreams.

Instead, he remained logical, ever logical. “Whatever you’re comfortable with, of course. Though it may appear odd for a married couple to purchase multiple mattresses, I imagine that there would be reasons for doing so, and I doubt anybody would give much thought to it. It’s ultimately your decis…”

“Are we a couple, Hannibal?”

The question took Hannibal aback and he cursed himself for being startled at the question. His confoundment led to an inability to answer the question, and a fury for his emotions getting in his way began to build inside of him.

“So you don’t know, either do you? I’m not asking if we’re partners, because that’s what we are, or at least what we intend to be. I intend to kill with you; you’ve been teaching me. That aspect is defined already. But what about everything else? What about sharing our space, what about grasping at each other, asking to kiss each other, what about the way this FEELS? The fact that we are portraying a romantic couple outside of our home and are practically living as one inside of our home? Because to me, that’s what it feels like. That’s what we feel like, to me. A couple. Romantic partners, whatever.” The words rushed out of Will, hurried yet confident, as though they had been developing inside of his throat for an extended period of time.

Hannibal was quick on his feet to diminish the tension in the air with humor. 

“I suppose, Will, if you’re comfortable with the notion, we could be Murder Husbands?”

Will gaped at him from the other side of the car. “Did you just...did you just Freddie Lounds all over this relationship?!”

Hannibal couldn’t stop himself from laughing, and soon after, Will joined in. He called Hannibal a bastard and accused him of avoiding the question at hand.

“Is there really a question, Will? I believe our relationship to be far more intimate and, in some aspects, far more romantic than what most people usually experience, even those who are physically or sexually intimate with one another. I consider you to be my partner in more ways than one, yes.” 

Will’s laughter faltered, and he felt a shift occur between them. It was there, in the air between them, stated out loud for their acknowledgement. 

“I struggle to imagine that I could handle physical intimacy with you, Hannibal,” Will said quietly, avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know if I could...tolerate it, the closeness. It scares me.”

Hannibal reached over, placing his hand on the back of Will's neck. “I know it does. I also know that I think about it, often, and that I have never ached for something so badly. Not even to take a life. You are in control, Will. You decide what happens between us, and when. I’ve driven us together, and now that we’re here, it’s time for you to truly be a part of this. I will steer you in our killings; you steer us, in this.”

Will smiled at the other man. “So, I’m dating Hannibal Lecter. Does this make us...boyfriends?”

Hannibal grimaced. “I’m vastly more fond of the term Murder Husbands over that Will, honestly. We are not children.”

Will nodded in agreement. “Partners it is, then. And Hannibal, I...I’m getting there. I want you, so badly, all the time. I just have to adjust to everything. I’m almost ready.”

Hannibal opened the car door, and the two men got out of the car. As they were walking into the store, Hannibal cleared his throat. 

“We’ll see if you still feel the same way after I take you to the opera, next weekend.”

Will groaned, dramatically and loudly, and walked through the door that Hannibal held open for him. 

The next morning, a cherrywood bedroom set was delivered to their home, including a velvet-mounted set of stag antlers, which Will promptly hung on the wall above their new king sized bed.


	10. Upon the Shore

Jack Crawford couldn't sleep. 

It wasn't just that particular night, either. Occasionally, when he stirred to adjust his posture in the middle of the night, he was startled at the shadows on his walls or the reflections in the full size mirror on the adjacent side of the room. The shadows brought along recollections of Hannibal Lecter; the mirrors, of Francis Dolarhyde.

Both brought with them thoughts of Will Graham. 

Thoughts inevitably led to doubts, concerns, regrets. Jack considered his misuse and ultimate misplacement of Will to be the biggest failure of his career. Perhaps his biggest failure as a friend as well (his biggest failure as a man having been allowing Hannibal Lecter near his Bella, the memory of doing so always taunting him from within).

It had been 3 months since the last time he had seen Will or Hannibal, but only 6 hours since he last saw the remains of Francis Dolarhyde, his body bloated and eaten away by the sea creatures of the ocean. Dolarhyde’s body had washed ashore on a local beach earlier the day prior, scaring the hell out of an elderly couple out for their daily exercise. Jack could recall the feeling in his body when he had received the call from Price. It had been a rare day off for Jack. Before, any day taken off for personal care or leisure was rare. Now, he had taken more personal time for himself and reflection since the disappearance of Will and Hannibal. 

Jack imagined that it was the distant sound of the telephone ringing in his memory that was keeping him awake late into the night on that particular evening. When Price had uttered those words (“We've got the Dragon”), his body had numbed as he had waited for the other shoe to fall, bringing with it the news that their friend had been found as well.

The shoe hadn't fallen.

It was either the ringing keeping him awake, or it was the memory of how Dolarhyde’s body had looked when Jack had stood beside him, surrounded by the chill of the Bureau's morgue. Dolarhyde was barely the man that he had been when he was alive. Little more than just bone in some places, the blue flesh that remained covered in tears, bruising, and general misfortune. Price and Zeller had come to the quick conclusion that Dolarhyde had been killed in some kind of a struggle. Nobody in the room had verbalized any guesses as to who was involved in that struggle, as nobody felt the need to do so. It was everybody's assumption that Hannibal was somehow involved. It was too coincidental to think that Hannibal had escaped on the same day that they had lost track of Francis Dolarhyde, the same day that their plan had failed miserably and completely.

The discovery of Dolarhyde’s body lit a fire under Jack, and inside of him a new passion was born in his search for Will Graham. Naturally he was curious as to the location of the cannibal as well, but he found, even as a moral officer of the law, that he cared less about Hannibal's whereabouts than he likely should. Without a doubt, Dr. Lecter was either dead, or was existing somewhere in the world, continuing to commit atrocities against mankind. Even still, Jack found Will’s safety and well-being to be more important. 

Jack spoke often with Molly, checking in to see if Will had made contact in any capacity. Jack doubted that if Will did make his way home that he would be eager to speak with him, as the last time Jack had become involved in his life it had not ended well. However, each and every hopeful phone call had been dashed, as Molly assured him that she had heard no word from Will and had no indication to his whereabouts. Jack found that he felt an unsettling mixture of empathy and guilt for Molly. He felt guilty that she was again without a husband, her son again without a Father. He apologized to her every time their brief calls came to an end. She always assured him that it was okay.

Jack felt responsible for a lot of things. It was this feeling of responsibility that he believed was interfering with his health and was hindering his ability to focus. Although every time he closed his eyes that night he saw flashes of what was left of Dolarhyde's body and it made his stomach churn, he believed that it was his conscience that was keeping him from sleep. How was he going to find Will? They had done everything in their power, including tracking the whereabouts of the missing police cars until the GPS had lost signal about 10 miles from the coastline. Photos of Hannibal and Will were plastered all over; some still remained in the office, a constant reminder of what hadn't been found. The disappearance of the triad had made national news, and thousands of people had called the hotline, swearing that they had seen Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham at their local Wal-Mart, pumping gas at their local gas station, or inside their television sets. They had followed some leads that sounded more realistic than the others, and none of them had panned out. It was as though they had disappeared from the face of the Earth. 

Jack was not willing to accept that as the final answer. Jack liked having answers to questions; he was not a fan of ambiguity. 

Finally giving up on the task of sleeping, Jack rolled out of his bed, a bed that felt somehow smaller ever since Bella was no longer present to share his space. The sky outside was dark on top, bleeding into a light pink near the horizon. As Jack walked aimlessly around his home, he avoided the kitchen, as had become habit. Being in the kitchen, opening his refrigerator, and putting food into his mouth was a trigger to recall what he had consumed...no...who he had consumed, in the past. It was an ongoing struggle for him, one that had been fucking with his psyche for over 3 years. He cursed Hannibal Lecter for having diminished his love for food, laughter, and camaraderie. He didn't like to admit to himself, let alone to others, that he remained scarred in more ways than just the physical sense due to his relationship with the Chesapeake Ripper. 

Instead of going to the kitchen, Jack stepped into his home office. Seated at his desk, he open the file that he had looked through countless times; the file that was still labeled as belonging to the Tooth Fairy. He supposed that he should also be looking again through Hannibal's file; however, he knew that he would find nothing new there. He knew that file better than he knew the back of his hand, better than he knew his Bible. He had spent weeks with that file, devouring it, living inside of its pages and creases, trying to see how it was that he had missed the monster that had been in front of him for years. He found that he no longer wanted to look into that file as it reminded him of his failures and ignorance. He had developed a friendship with a cannibalistic serial killer, and he had grown increasingly bitter about how that made him think of himself as an agent. So instead, he now opted to study the file of the bloated killer in the morgue. 

Jack knew that Francis was somehow involved in Will's disappearance. It had been Will’s desire to use Hannibal as bait for Dolarhyde. Jack knew that he could not take on all of the blame himself for whatever fate had befallen Will Graham; Will had to take some of the blame as well. At least that's what Jack told himself as he sighed deeply and began to read through the file again. 

And again. 

And again. 

The shrill ring of his phone broke his concentration sometime after the sun had ascended over the horizon. He knew that it was Price before Price responded to his greeting. Somehow, he could sense a buzzing energy from the other side of the line.

“Jack. We found something you're going to want to see.”

Jack made it to the office in record time, not caring that he hadn't dressed in the most appropriate attire. Still in blue and white plaid checkered pajama pants and a white sleep shirt, Jack burst into the science lab, feeling erratic. There, he found Price and Zeller looking exhausted and utterly disheveled. 

“Did you guys get any sleep last night?”

Price shot him a grim smile, which was unusual for him. His grin usually lit up the room; the man was infectious. 

“There's time for sleep when we're dead, Jack. Especially when we could be using the time to find something to help track down Graham.” Behind him, Zeller nodded.

Jack's blood raced through his body at an alarming speed. He knew without it being said outright that they had uncovered something major, and he felt a rare surge of hope.

“Tell me everything. NOW!”

Zeller pulled out a magnifying glass and handed it over to Jack, motioning for him to approach a slab that looked as though it held bits and pieces of blue-gray flesh. 

“Jack, take a look at the edges of this wound, and tell me what you think.” Zeller stated, taking a step back from the slab. Jack took his time with the task, although his immediate reaction would have been the accurate guess.

“The flesh has been bitten away. It looks...human.”

Price stepped to the other side of Zeller, his arms crossed, nodding his head in agreement. “Yes. From what we can determine from the wounds left on what used to be a human body, this is Dolarhyde's throat. As you can see, it is missing a sizable chunk that appears to have been extracted by someone else's mouth. Who do we know that had a habit of eating flesh? Ding ding ding!”

Jack felt something inside of his stomach sour. It had been one thing to assume that Hannibal and Dolarhyde's disappearances had been linked; it was another to have it confirmed.

“Did you call me in here just to confirm that for me, or is there something else?” 

Price held up his hand. “Do you really think that I would have had you roll your ass out of bed just to tell you something you probably already knew? No. I value not having a pissed-off, ornery boss breathing down my neck. We wanted to tell you about the other injuries that we managed to recover from the body. The temperature of the water mixed with the salt did a great job of preserving a lot of the flesh, so in that way we were fortunate. From what we could tell, Dolarhyde had defensive wounds all over his body. Not only on his hands, as though he was defending himself from the front, but also across his arms and back. He had major lacerations across his body, the main ones being the bite to the throat and a gash across his abdomen, by the looks of it. I know the guess would be that an animal caused these wounds, like the ones we observed on one of his legs. However, we've established that the bite is human, and the laceration to his abdomen seems to be too perfectly drawn, the edges too smooth. Definitely done with some kind of sharp blade. By the looks of the wounds, Jack, Dolarhyde was fending off more than one assailant. And if Hannibal was one of them…”

A silence fell over the room as Jack contemplated this new information. The look on Price and Zeller’s faces indicated that this was a discussion that they had already had, and that they had come to the conclusion that Jack was actively avoiding. 

“So what are you trying to tell me? Are you trying to say that...are you trying to suggest that Hannibal and Will killed him...together? Are you trying to tell me that Will Graham murdered the Red Dragon? Where's your proof? Where is the evidence that Will had anything to do with this? Because I can tell by the look on your faces that that is exactly what you're trying to tell me!”

The quick escalation of the volume of Jack's voice surprised nobody. Neither Price nor Zeller wanted to speak up, and it took a sharp elbow to the ribs from his partner for Zeller to finally open his mouth. 

“Jack, you have to face the fact that Will and Hannibal had, let's say, an unhealthy relationship. Everybody was concerned from the beginning, nobody wanted to acknowledge it, and somewhere along the line I think we lost him to the monster, Jack. All three of them disappearing at the same time? I know your deductive reasoning skills are better than to assume otherwise. In my opinion, if you find Hannibal Lecter, you'll find Will Graham. Dead or alive? That I can't tell you. But Jack...they attacked him like a pack of wild animals. I...We don't know what version of Graham you're looking for, but I'm not sure you're going to find it.”

Jack found it hard to hear the words coming from Zeller, as he was also listening to a fragment of a memory somewhere deep inside of his mind. 

“I wanted to run away with him.”

A fury overtook Jack in that moment that he couldn't have explained even if he tried. The thought that Will had intentionally disappeared, that he had intentionally run away to be with Hannibal Lecter in any capacity, caused a rage to flow through his body that he couldn't quite trust himself to control. He slammed a closed fist against the lab table, causing the other men to jump.

“You listen to me. I'm going to find Will Graham, dead or alive. He's going to explain himself or his body will do the explaining for him. But I'm going to find him. I'm going to provide him with the opportunity to clear his name and to clear any doubt. In case you don't remember, we accused the man of murder not too many years ago. And we were wrong, were we not? Can we not abuse Will’s name when he's not around to defend himself? Can we just find the damn man first?!” 

With that, Jack turn on his heels and stormed out of the room, leaving a blanket of silence over the scientists. That interaction hadn't gone how they had wanted it to, but it had gone pretty much exactly how they had expected. Quietly, they resumed their work, cataloguing the remains in front of them.

Jack practically ran into his office and as soon as he got there, picked up the phone. He dialed the extension to his lead external investigator, and made his demand before the other man could even get a word in edgewise. 

“Listen up Detective, and listen hard. I want your entire team and all forces available to spread out within a 30 mile radius of where Dolarhyde's body was found. Follow the coastlines, follow the beach, follow any road in any direction that could lead us to the whereabouts of Hannibal Lecter. Anywhere within a 30 mile radius where Dolarhyde's body could have been dumped, where Lecter could have accessed the ocean. I don't want your men to sleep, eat, or shit until they locate the scene of the crime, understood?” Jack didn't wait for a response. “Good.” 

Jack hung up his phone with such force that he had the fleeting thought that it might not work the next time he tried to make a call. He leaned back in his desk chair and closed his eyes, laced his fingers behind his head. There, and his office, his walls covered with crime scene photos, memories, and murderous whispers, Jack fell asleep. It was a short burst of deep sleep, and he awoke refueled and determined to find and catch Hannibal Lecter, once again.


	11. Painting Reciprocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, a bit of release!
> 
> Thank you guys, so very much, for the kudos and encouraging comments! They keep me excited to keep writing, so by all means, keep them coming :)

Will wanted to finish painting the shed in the backyard before they had to get ready for the opera.

Though he hadn’t requested assistance, Hannibal had wordlessly joined him in the task after he had cleaned up the dishes from breakfast. It was the first time that Hannibal had ventured out into the yard while Will was working; the older man had kept himself rather preoccupied with accepting furniture deliveries and adjusting the decor on the inside of the home. Will, of course, wanted to be in the elements as much as possible, and had spent more hours than not outside, working on the back deck, the yard, the shed. Working with his hands and feeling grime stuck to his flesh at the end of the night starkly reminded him that he was alive; his story had not ended.

Will had been shocked that a week had already flown by, and questioned Hannibal’s time keeping when he was reminded that the opera was later that evening. His days had blurred, as his focus had no longer been on running, or hiding, or even on Hannibal. The two of them shared two meals together daily, each of them snacking midday, typically missing each other in the house. Will felt astounded every time he entered into the home for any reason; the speed at which Hannibal decorated was supernatural, and Will found his surroundings quickly transforming into something comfortable, a place reminiscent of Hannibal’s old home. He knew that Hannibal was eager to start seeing patients again, that he was also eager to get back into his hobbies, both innocent and sinister. While Will was also anticipating the continuation of their murderous progression, he didn’t hide the fact that he was less excited about being dragged along into Hannibal’s social facade, which obviously included opera and was likely to include other crowded activities as well. If there was one thing that Hannibal loved, it was drawing others to him, like moths to hellfire. 

Although, Will pondered as he dipped a new, stiff brush into a gallon of off-white paint, as the day drew closer to the evening, his dread for attending the opera was turning into something different entirely. It had been tugging in the back of his mind over the days prior that he had begun longing for Hannibal’s company; though focused on the labors before him, he missed their conversations. He was so exhausted at night that he had been falling asleep directly after dinner on one side of the bed, Hannibal either cleaning the kitchen or reading in his new office. Hannibal went down after Will, and rose before him. That particular morning, Will had found himself aching slightly when he again woke up to an empty bed. He didn’t know what he would do, exactly, if Hannibal had been lying beside him, sleeping and shirtless, but the thought alone was enough to send chills down his spine.

Will was also hesitant to admit to himself that he was looking forward to seeing Hannibal dressed to the nines, no doubt, and in his element at the opera. Watching Hannibal take part in something that he was passionate about, whether it be cooking, decorating, drawing, or reading (or killing), was possibly Will’s favorite thing to do. 

Hannibal’s happiness was far more important than his own. The thought should have alarmed Will, and yet it rested peacefully in the back of his mind.

“Could I lend you a hand, Will?”

Will snapped from his thoughts quickly at the sound of Hannibal’s voice behind him. Hannibal was much closer to him than he expected, brushing Will’s pant leg with his elbow when he leaned down to grab a paint brush.

Will nodded, using the back of his hand to adjust his glasses. The chemicals in the paint would no doubt agitate his contact lenses, yet the glasses were sliding off of his nose due to sweat, and it was perpetually annoying. At least, it had felt annoying, but having Hannibal beside him nixed his negative thoughts immediately. 

“Sure. Your reach is longer than mine, could you get the trim? That would be helpful, thanks.”

Hannibal did as he was told, and for nearly an hour, they worked side by side. They discussed ultimately meaningless and arbitrary things, such as the weather, what kind of wax to use on the car, the way that the lawn still smelled freshly cut although Will had mowed it days before. Their conversations had become easy, and they fell into them with comfort.

Nearly finished, Hannibal made the exclamation that they would need to begin readying themselves for the opera soon. Will huffed, blowing curls from off of his forehead with his breath. Hannibal found it endearing.

“Are you having reservations about accompanying me?”

Will thought for a moment, cleaned his glasses with the inside hem of his t-shirt. “I wouldn’t say reservations, exactly. I suppose I’m unsure what to expect. This isn’t my typical outing, and I know that you’re going to draw people to you like a magnet, because that’s just what you do. I don’t...do so well, with that, interacting in crowds with strangers.”

Hannibal thought on this for a moment, feeling something that resembled pity. He dipped his brush in the paint to cover one last piece of trim, just above Will’s head.

“I find your fears to be baseless. This will be your first opera in France, to my knowledge, and I am happy to be there for your experience. My attention will not be on other patrons, William. Not with you there on my arm.”

Will stilled, as Hannibal had expected him to do. He could see Will deciding how to reply, and he looked forward to hearing his response. Unfortunately, the moment that Will looked up at him and opened his mouth to speak, Hannibal watched multiple droplets of paint fall from his brush above Will’s head, landing on the back of his neck. 

Will’s hand instinctively followed behind the tickle of the paint, smearing not only his fingers but the back of his neck, as well as the tips of some of his curls.

“Ah, Will. My apologies. Here, let me…”

Will stood and turned as Hannibal reached down to the ground to pick up a rag, accidentally brushing his hand against Hannibal’s shirt, leaving a trail of paint. 

“Well shit! Sorry about that. We’re a mess today.” 

Hannibal stood and eyed his shirt, meeting Will with a serious look.

“This is my best trash shirt, William. I’m afraid I must now have you for dinner.”

Will grinned. “That seems a little overboard, Doctor, even for you and your tendencies to be a drama queen.” 

This sparked a burst of laughter from Hannibal, and Will felt himself grow warm at the sight of the laugh lines, prominent on Hannibal’s face; his crooked teeth, the long part of his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat.

Hannibal knew that Will was going to kiss him before Will himself was even aware. As he laughed, he noticed a change in Will’s facial expression. Will went from smiling and chuckling to a look of pointed adoration and longing, a look that quickly ceased Hannibal’s own laughter. He had time to experience a momentary surge of anxiousness and impatience before Will took a step forward, closing the space between them with less than a full stride. 

Will’s lips brushed Hannibal’s gently at first, tentatively, as though with great restraint. Hannibal’s full mouth remained still, though compliant, and Will knew it was a precaution as to not frighten him off. He lay a slow, closed-mouth kiss onto Hannibal’s lips, followed by another, and another. His heart pounded rapidly in his chest, an ache in his core raging beneath his skin. Hannibal’s lips were warm and soft...so soft…

Will opened his mouth slightly and put more force behind his actions. He was immediately rewarded with the hot wetness of Hannibal’s tongue, running over his own lower lip. The blood in his veins ran white hot in an instant; he found that he could not form a cohesive thought. Will inadvertently let out a small hum, and for Hannibal, the dam broke.

Hannibal was a man of control in most moments of his life. He was sophisticated, intelligent, and cunning. He was the puppet master and a deity over others. 

But Will Graham humming in divine satisfaction under his own lips was intolerable, and his control slipped in an instant.

He pushed his tongue eagerly into Will’s mouth, tilting the shorter man’s head backwards. Will responded by raising his hands to Hannibal’s cheeks, framing his face, and pulling him in as tightly as possible. Hannibal shuddered, and kissed deeply.

Will broke away after a few moments, his chest heaving. As he leaned back, slightly away from Hannibal, Hannibal rushed forward, again enveloping Will’s mouth with his own. Will gasped and stumbled backwards, his back hitting the freshly painted shed. Hannibal took the opportunity to surround him, pressing their chests together and pulling himself to Will, one hand on the small of Will’s back, the other on the back of his neck. Hannibal was ravenous, and the thought of not having his mouth on Will seemed not only ludicrous, but impossible.

Hannibal freed Will’s mouth and began to lay his lips on other tempting, exposed portions of flesh. Hannibal kissed down Will’s jaw line, lingered at the tender spot directly behind his earlobe. Will groaned his name, at first only once, and then repeatedly as Hannibal licked a stripe from his collarbone to the tip of his chin.

“Hannibal….ah, Hannibal...fuck…”

Hannibal smiled. Will felt it on his skin, and it felt like sunlight. He was painfully aware of Hannibal’s emotions, feelings of possessiveness, satisfaction, and something akin to joy rolling out of Hannibal and into himself. He was powerfully overwhelmed, crushed by the overflow of emotion, not only from his partner, but also from within. He silently cursed himself for not having done this sooner...so much wasted time, when he could have been sharing this life, this experience with the person that he truly, well…

Well.

Will gasped again as Hannibal bit the skin on his throat. It was a quick nip, but strong, enough to bruise. The thought of Hannibal bruising him with his mouth caused delicious chills to race up Will’s spine, and he forcefully crushed their lips together, taking Hannibal by surprise. Will entangled his hands into Hannibal’s hair, pulling him in. 

“Will, oh...I’ve wanted...so long, for so long...never thought...you taste…”

Will finished Hannibal’s panting, broken sentence with a description of his own. 

“Delectable, Hannibal. Why...why did we wait so long...ah!”

Hannibal had pulled his hair harshly, exposing his throat, which Hannibal immediately began to suck. Heat coiled, alive and molten, in Will’s stomach, he needed to be closer, he needed friction, he NEEDED.

Will pressed the rest of his body to be flush with Hannibal’s, and lost all sanity.

He could feel Hannibal pressed against his hip, rock hard and hot through his clothing. The sudden pressure of Hannibal’s hip on his own aching erection sent electricity through his body. Hannibal pressed his full weight into Will, pinning him between his body and the shed. The friction caused Hannibal to close his eyes and exhale loudly. When he opened them, he stared directly into Will’s own eyes. Hannibal’s eyes glittered, shiny and black, and hungry. Not breaking his gaze, Will slowly, languidly, rolled his hips. 

Both men shuddered, visibly and audibly. Will repeated his action, twice, three times. Hannibal met his rhythm, and they moved together, breathing in sync, moaning in tandem. The sight of Hannibal disheveled, sweaty, and rutting against Will was almost too much to bear.

“So...Hannibal...you’re so...fucking...beautiful…it hurts…”

Hannibal cried out, a short but loud cry. Will could feel Hannibal’s cock pulsing with orgasm, even between their layers of clothing. Will’s shock took him aback for a moment, but only for a moment; Hannibal kissed him harshly, all tongue, teeth, and wet lips,and used his hand to rub Will through his clothing. Will stuttered into Hannibal’s mouth as Hannibal applied smooth and steady pressure. Will cursed the existence of jeans in that moment, longing for Hannibal’s hand to grip him, flesh to flesh. The thought was devastating to him, and he ground into Hannibal’s palm.

“Will...I want you to...come on, come on, baby…”

The sound of Hannibal’s pleading drove him over the edge, and he bit his lip terribly hard as he came. Hannibal continued to palm him until he finished convulsing, after which point he used said hand to reach up and use his thumb to wipe away a drop of blood that sprang from Will’s freshly bitten lip. Will watched Hannibal slip his thumb into his mouth.

“Well, if we hadn’t just gotten each other off like school boys, that image certainly would have done the trick for me,” Will said, leaning his head against the shed.

Hannibal chuckled breathlessly, and bent slightly to lean his head into Will’s chest. The movement was so warm, so sincere and sweet, that Will felt his throat tighten. 

“Hannibal?”

The other man looked up, meeting Will’s eyes. There was a tenderness in his gaze that Will would have never attributed to him in the past. Will swallowed.

“That was...thank you.” 

Hannibal’s eyebrows rose. “As you were the one who initiated that encounter, I feel as though I should be the one sharing my gratitude.”

Will huffed a stark laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. That, what just happened, has stalked my dreams for years. Sometimes, before you turned yourself in, I found myself in pain, trying to prevent throwing myself at you. I talked myself into believing, in the years that you were detained, that had I kissed you, had anything happened between us, it would have killed me, you being...gone…it nearly did, anyways.” Will’s voice broke slightly. He cleared his throat, and continued, Hannibal listening and watching him intently. “I’ve felt so inferior to you, for so long, this, this never felt like a real possibility…” 

Hannibal cut him off with a prompt and swift kiss. 

“The notion that you’re inferior to me is insulting. After all, you’re the only one with this ability to overtake me, William. You may have considered me dangerous for many reasons over the course of our courtship, but I have always viewed myself as Icarus, and you the sun.”

Will closed his eyes, obviously struggling to hear Hannibal speak. Hannibal leaned in, his lips brushing Will’s ear as he continued in a whisper.

“When you pulled us off of the cliff, I was grateful for a moment. It was surely a definite ending to our story. We were going to end, together, and for that I was glad, glad that you took me with you, because I knew that I couldn’t continue in this world without you, Will.”

Will’s eyes were bright with tears when he opened them. Silence fell between them as they simply looked at one another, allowing their bodies to calm and their adrenaline to settle. Will reached up to get the hair out of his face, and in doing so, discovered paint drying in his curls.

“Dammit. We should, I should…I have to clean up, Hannibal. I can’t go in public with paint in my hair and semen everywhere.”

Hannibal smiled and nodded in agreement, feeling disappointed that the moment was coming to an end. In his mind, he berated himself for purchasing tickets to the opera. He wanted nothing more than to stay home with Will, to explore their new territory. Instead, he followed Will as he walked towards the house. 

Opening the door, Will turned and flashed a mischievous grin in Hannibal’s direction. 

“I’ve gotta say, I never knew that I would enjoy being called ‘baby’ as much as I did, Hannibal.” 

Hannibal’s face screwed up in confusion. “Wait. I didn’t...did I?”

Within his memory palace, Will catalogued the deep blush that crept into Hannibal’s face as his new favorite image.


	12. Phantoms in the Opera House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Putting the "murder" in "Murder Husbands."
> 
> Warning for detailed description of abduction, violence, and some blood play.
> 
> Excuse the little bit of French if it's broken! I haven't studied the language in a few years, and it's quite apparent to me now that if you don't use it, you do indeed lose it.
> 
> Thank you so much for the kudos and comments! I'm beyond thrilled to see people continuing to follow this story, and I can't explain the joy that I feel reading every comment. You guys are the best.

They were all strangers, and they were everywhere. 

Will hung onto the back of Hannibal’s tuxedo jacket as though he had reverted back into a small child, one afraid of being separated from his Mother. The entryway to the Palais Garnier was buzzing with bright lights, reflections off of the harsh glass and gold trim of chandeliers, and heat from the bodies that surrounded them as they waited for the inner doors to open into the opera theater. Will caught glimpses of color when he peeled his eyes from the back of Hannibal’s head; the black shine of dress shoes, the shocking reds and emerald greens of floor length gowns worn by the bourgeois Parisian women who held on to their male counterparts, much like Will was doing himself, but with less panicked urgency.

“Are you alright, James?” 

Hannibal turned to meet Will’s eyes. Though his question was convincing, his face lacked genuine concern. Will knew that Hannibal was likely struggling to comprehend his anxiety; he imagined that there had never been a point in time during which Hannibal had felt self-conscious, or nervous to be around people. The killer was a charmer, and in his mind Will compared him to Ted Bundy. His lips quirked up in a smile at the thought.

“I’m fine. I just want to sit. There are so many people, and their feelings are...everywhere.”

Hannibal nodded in acknowledgement. The loudness of the lobby area would have blended together to most people, into an annoying cacophony of noise. Will, however, possessed the curse of picking up details. He heard the strain in the voice of the woman to his left as she tried to talk her husband out of having another glass of complimentary champagne; the worry of the couple in front of them, as it was their first time leaving their child at home with a nanny; the aggression of the man behind him as he berated his companion on her choice of dress. Will longed to be back home, where he could breathe in his own air, along with the sighs and exhalations of his partner.

“Oh, Monsieurs Harris!” 

Will snapped to attention instantly, his fist closing tighter around the cloth adorning Hannibal’s back. An older woman stepped directly in front of them, pulling at the arm of a white haired man who looked less than willing to be where he was.

“Ah, bonjour, Madame Roux. Comment allez-vous ce soir?” Hannibal pulled the woman’s hand to his lips, kissing her knuckles gently. It took Will a moment to place her as the shop hand who had assisted them in picking out their bed the weekend prior. He did his best to smile in her direction; naturally, she was focused solely on Hannibal, who was stunning in his tuxedo, as Will had known he would be. 

The woman introduced her companion to Hannibal as her husband, and Will was pulled eagerly out from behind Hannibal’s back, to stand at his side. Hannibal crooked his right arm and Will was quick to snake his own arm through the bend in Hannibal’s elbow as he was introduced. 

“Monsieur Roux , je voudrais vous présenter mon mari, James.” 

Mr. Roux bent his head slightly in Will’s direction. He did not come off as a friendly man, and Will was barely able to utter a word of greeting before, graciously, the crowd started to move towards the now open theater doors. Will breathed a heavy sigh of relief. He tightened his grip on Hannibal’s arm as they walked inside to find their seats.

Once sitting, Will found that he was able to relax. The rapid beat of his heart became less prominent, and he was able to focus on his surroundings. He drank in the sight of the theater, appreciating the architecture and sheer amount of work that had gone into the building. Before he was aware, he had turned in Hannibal’s direction, and his focus was aimed towards his partner’s jawline, firm, squared, and recently shaven. Will felt a longing to drag his tongue across the flesh; he wondered what kind of sound Hannibal might make. Something sparked inside of his belly when he realized that should he still desire, he could find out later.

Hannibal turned to meet his gaze.

“Can I help you, James?” There was teasing in his voice.

Will smiled. “I was just wondering if you enjoy introducing me as your husband, actually.”

Hannibal didn’t provide him with an answer, instead settling on grasping Will’s left hand with his right and turning towards the stage as the lights fell.

Will had suspected that he would enjoy the sight of Hannibal at the opera; he knew that the art was one of Hannibal’s favorite past times. Try as he might to admire the wet sheen of Hannibal’s eyes as the singers performed, Will was surprised to find that it was rather difficult to pull his attention from the performers on the stage. They sat there, side by side, hands intertwined, enraptured.

***

“Well, what do you think so far?”

Hannibal made sure to lean in closely to Will’s ear so that he could hear his question clearly over the sound of roaring applause. They were standing, and Hannibal’s heart was burning in his chest as he watched Will actively ignore the question, too intent on clapping as hard as he possibly could. Hannibal learned more about Will every moment, it seemed, and yet he still found himself growing increasingly fond towards him. This was atypical; usually, the more Hannibal learned about a person, the less they were able to impress him.

This was not the case with Will. 

Hannibal had been enjoying the opera to the highest extent that he could muster, but found himself distracted by wandering thoughts. The warmth that emanated from Will’s leg where it was pressed against his own as they sat, Will’s pulse beating beneath his palm where there hands were joined. Hannibal was distracted by the earlier events of the day, and he was grateful that he had apparently been able to catalogue every sensation, taste, and sound from their encounter against the shed, as he was enjoying remembering them on a constant loop. For the first time, Hannibal wished that he could find a reason to leave the opera early, even though it was only the first intermission. 

Hannibal and Will split up in the lobby, Hannibal needing to use the restroom and Will on task to obtain two glasses of champagne from the open bar. Hannibal moved quickly instead of at his usual leisurely pace; he ignored the thought that he missed Will already.

Childish thoughts, and his mind did not host childish thoughts.

It only took Hannibal a few seconds to find Will in the still crowded lobby, his dark curls bouncing beneath the light of a chandelier. Walking towards him, Hannibal stopped dead in his tracks as he watched the young woman beside Will at the bar place her hand on Will’s shoulder, throwing her head back in laughter. Hannibal took a moment to digest her appearance; toned, long body, tan, unnaturally white blonde hair. Her posture indicated that she had been drinking more than she could handle, and her sloppy physical flirting style was reminiscent of a little girl, trying to get the attention of a boy on the playground.

Based on his observations, Hannibal knew before he approached them that she was American.

He interjected himself smoothly at Will’s opposite side, leaning his chest against Will’s shoulder.

“Have you made a friend, James?”

Will startled at his touch, and he turned towards him. The discomfort on Will’s face was obvious; his cheeks were red, and he was twitchy. His eyes screamed with gratitude that Hannibal had returned to him when he had.

“Christopher, there you are. Yes, I was just chatting with Audrey here while we’re waiting for our drinks. Audrey is visiting from the States, with a couple of girlfriends. Audrey, this is...this is my husband, Christopher.”

Hannibal extended his hand smoothly and made eye contact with the girl directly, for the first time. Even as she shook his hand limply, her hand sweaty (rude), Hannibal could see the disappointment in her face.

“Well, shoot! Hi, there, Christopher. Man, your husband, huh? Of course. A nice hunk of meat like you would be batting for the other team, that’s just my luck!” She slapped Will playfully on his arm and winked up at him. Awkwardness rolled off of Will’s shoulders in droves.

A beast uncoiled instantly in Hannibal’s chest. He wanted to choke the life out of her for laying her hands on Will, on HIS Will Graham. Her idiotic body didn’t deserve to come into contact with anything that Hannibal held dear. Especially not Will.

He could have forgiven her for that trespass. After all, with the way that Will looked in his fitted tuxedo, Hannibal didn’t understand why more people weren’t throwing themselves in his direction. He was a specimen to behold, far more awe inspiring than the decor or the artists on stage. For that, Hannibal could forgive this girl.

But she could not be forgiven for calling his William a “hunk of meat,” as though he were nothing but a piece of flesh, ripe for slaughter.

Had Will only been a piece of flesh, Hannibal would have eaten him ages ago. 

No. Will was not meat. Will was...lovely.

So.

“Don’t jump to such haste, dear Audrey. Just because we’re married to each other doesn’t mean we don’t also appreciate a luscious female form, such as yours.”

He felt Will freeze beside him. Hannibal took his hand and applied firm pressure, on and off, the only way he could think to soothe his confusion and bewilderment in the moment.

The girl blushed, quick and red. Hannibal’s mind turned to all of that blood, brought to the surface, and he pushed further still.

“You would be a perfect guest in our bed, young lady, if not for that ring on your finger. It’s a shame, really.”

Her eyes grew wide at Hannibal’s forwardness, and she absently touched the band on her left ring finger. Trying to be coy, she pulled it off and slipped it into her small purse. She flashed her empty hand in their direction.

“For a night with you two handsome men, what happens in Paris can stay in Paris, am I right?” Her words slurred together, yet she grabbed the glass of champagne that the bartender set in front of her and drained it, in one gulp.

Hannibal glanced at Will from the corner of his eye. Will was watching her, and the thin veil that he had placed over the disgust on his face was easy for Hannibal to see through. He squeezed Will’s hand, causing his partner to meet his gaze.

“What do you think, James, dear? Would you be up for an extra helping of dessert, tonight?”

Hannibal was unsure which he adored most; the flash of comprehension in Will’s eyes, or the wicked smile that crossed his face. Will had gone from awkward to eager in a heartbeat, and the knowledge of what had pushed him over the boundary into excitement was enough to make Hannibal’s breath hitch in his throat.

“I think that’s a fantastic idea, honey. Actually, I don’t know if I can wait until the end of the show...Audrey, come home with us? We can show you a better time than you’ll get here, that I promise you.”

Hannibal was so proud of Will, it ached.

At first, the girl looked panicked, as though she had not actually expected her flirtatious behavior to lead anywhere. But after a moment, she flashed them a lopsided grin.

“Fuck it! I’m in. Let me just go tell my friend…”

Hannibal felt Will tighten his grip. Panicked. Intelligent enough to know that the last thing that they wanted was for her to describe them to a friend.

Hannibal reached over and plucked her small purse from the bar. “You have a phone in here, yes?” He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She giggled. “Well, duh.”

Annoyance flashed beneath Hannibal’s rib cage. “You can text your friend from the car. I say we head out now, while the night is still young.” He dropped his hand from Will’s grip and reached across Will’s chest, tucking a piece of Audrey’s hair behind her ear.

Breathless, eyes wide with lust, she nodded eagerly, took Will by the hand, and steered him towards the door.

She was a deer in headlights, Hannibal thought, straying from them slightly to nonchalantly drop her small purse into the flames of the large fireplace in the lobby, before following them outside.

***

“Is there somewhere for me to...fresh, up, to freshen up?”

The girl looked odd standing in their foyer, the brightness of her silver dress clashing with the dark tones of the wood and floor. She reminded Will of a Christmas ornament. 

The drive to the house had felt nearly unbearable. The girl was obviously drunk, and entirely obnoxious. She would not stop commenting on how much of a “bad girl” she was being, talking about how she had always dreamed of having an affair with another man, as her marriage of three years to her husband had become “boring.” Will’s dislike towards her increased with every moment, and he wished that he could turn off his ability to read her, but try as he might, he couldn’t.

As Hannibal led Audrey to the bathroom on the first floor, Will paced the in the kitchen, wringing his hands through his hair. Was he scared? Nervous? Anxious? Excited? Thrilled? He was all of these things, all at once.

Mostly, though, he was hungry.

Hannibal stepped quietly into the kitchen and approached Will quickly, placing his hands on Will’s shoulders, stopping his pacing. He tilted Will’s head up, forcing their eyes to meet.

“Tell me if this is too much, William. There is still time to turn back.”

Will huffed. “Do YOU want to turn back?”

Hannibal’s eyes grew dark. “No. She is rude, and disingenuous, with cruel intentions. And I don’t like the way she...acknowledges you, like you’re a plaything to be fucked and dumped.”

Hannibal’s uncharacteristic language and the growl behind his words nearly made Will moan. He managed to hold it in his throat.

“I don’t want to turn back, either. I want to do this, with you.”

Hannibal smiled at Will, and relaxed. He reached behind Will and pulled open one of the kitchen drawers, rifled for a moment, and set something on the counter. When Will looked over to see what he had extracted from the drawer, he stopped breathing, and his vision blurred slightly, due to the rush of blood to his head.

“Hannibal…” Will whispered, his voice broken. He reached out and brushed his fingers over the box of saran wrap.

Hannibal had remembered. Of course he had.

Will stepped forward, intent to kiss the man before him, but he halted, an inch from Hannibal’s lips, when there was the sound of the girl clearing her throat behind them.

Both men spun in her direction, and Will felt taken aback to find her completely naked. She was steadier on her feet, the effects of the alcohol clearly diminishing. She appeared more confident and focused.

“Sorry to interrupt you boys, but is there room for one more?” 

Will practically felt Hannibal cringe at the statement, and watched with interest as he slipped into a facade. Hannibal approached the girl quickly and, without hesitation, engulfed her in a kiss. 

Will felt his body go numb as he watched Hannibal lick into this girl’s eager mouth. They were both attractive, there was no denying that, but his body reacted in exactly the opposite manner than it typically would. He felt sick to his stomach with jealousy, with possessiveness, and he could barely stop himself from walking over and snapping the girl’s neck when he watched her grab two handfuls of Hannibal’s ass through his tuxedo pants.

Then she started talking.

“Oh, my God, you’re a total God! Your body, it’s so amazing, at first I didn’t know, you know, a man your age, but, wow!”

Will found the time to remove his tuxedo jacket and undershirt before unraveling an armspan length worth of saran wrap from it’s holder. The girl wasn’t paying any attention to him as she continued to suck on Hannibal’s mouth, talking all the while. Hannibal’s eyes, however, didn’t leave Will, and when Will started to approach, Hannibal broke away from Audrey’s face.

“Don’t forget, I’m not the only one here who wants your attention.”

Hannibal, using one strong hand, grabbed both of the girl’s wrists, and spun her around to face Will, her hands secured behind her back. She barely had a moment to register his close proximity and his actions before he covered her face with the saran wrap. 

She hadn’t even had time to scream. 

Though she struggled, it was futile, and Will wrapped the saran wrap around her head a total of four times. He watched the clear plastic tighten over her mouth as she tried to draw breath, watched as Hannibal eased her into a sitting position on the floor when she started to thrash her legs, not letting go of her arms behind her back. Will watched for what felt like an eternity, until she stopped moving. Hannibal looked up to Will.

“She’s passed out. This will still take some time.”

Will was impatient. There was a painful buzzing in his veins that ached for release, release he knew he would find once her heart stopped beating. Without a second thought, Will took three steps into the kitchen, snatched a butcher’s knife, took three steps back, knelt onto the floor, and in one smooth motion, slashed the girl’s throat from ear to ear.

The arterial spray was not very strong, but it was strong enough to bathe Will’s chest in spurts of red. He felt the warmth hit his face weakly, but he didn’t close his eyes. He watched, and waited.

When the pumping ceased, Will let out the breath that he had been holding in a loud exhalation. With it, the tension and anxiety eased from his body, and a different feeling entirely overtook him.

He absorbed her energy, felt it give him life.

He got onto his feet, her blood dripping slowly down his chest. He looked down at his body, smeared in crimson, before looking down to Hannibal, still on the floor. Hannibal was gazing at him, and the absolute, pure carnal desire in his eyes nearly caused Will to stumble. 

“Hannibal, put her in the cooler.”

Instead of questioning his demand, Hannibal quickly and quietly scooped her body into his arms and carried her out of the side door. Will heard the lid to the industrial sized cooler in the garage open, followed by a tumbling thud, and the door slamming onto itself. When Hannibal reappeared in front of Will, his white tuxedo shirt shone sticky with blood, a smear of it on Hannibal’s jaw. 

Will was on Hannibal in a heartbeat, his mouth immediately latching onto Hannibal’s jaw, and he slowly sucked until the coppery taste left Hannibal’s skin completely. Will leaned back, and Hannibal pressed both of his hands against Will’s chest, and came away red. Will eagerly and unexpectedly leaned down and took three of Hannibal’s fingers into his mouth, greedily sucking. Hannibal shivered as he watched, his pupils wide. Will slipped his mouth off of Hannibal’s fingers with a loud pop, leaned up, pressed his body into Hannibal’s, and whispered into his ear.

“Take me to bed.”


	13. Succumbing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Earning that explicit rating!
> 
> Thank you, so damn much, for sticking with me thus far! If my outline for this story is to be trusted (we'll see), we've passed the halfway point by a few chapters. However, there's plenty of Jack Crawford, sexy times, and a few unexpected twists yet to come.
> 
> It has meant so much to me to have the first fic that I've ever shared be within this fandom, because Fannibals are the absolute best, and you've all been so kind! I do a little dance whenever I receive a comment, kudos, share or reblog, so feel free to keep them coming :-)

Will had never felt so alive.

He was nearly unaware of the movements of his own body as he led Hannibal upstairs and into their bedroom. The energy that was coursing through his veins gave him the tactile illusion that he was floating; for a moment, as they stepped over the threshold into the room, Will feared that he would lose consciousness. He reached out blindly behind him for his companion. As soon as his fingers brushed Hannibal’s hand, he was grounded, rooted back into the moment, back into the engulfing enormity of the experience.

He felt powerful. 

There existed no hesitation in his hands as they reached forward towards Hannibal, his fingers gently unbuttoning his bloodstained dress shirt. He faltered for a moment when the overhead light came on, flooding the room brightly. He cocked his eyebrow at Hannibal.

“I want to see you,” Hannibal said simply, his hand dropping away from the lightswitch. 

Will nodded in understanding, his momentary awkwardness drifting away as he watched himself remove Hannibal’s shirt and press his palms to the other man’s clavicles.

Will understood. He wanted to see, too.

Both of them now bare chested, skin stained with blood that was beginning to dry and crack, Will leaned forward until their chests met. Their kiss wasn’t initiated by one monster or the other, rather, their lips met in the middle, sealing them together in a point of wet, slow warmth. Will wrapped himself around Hannibal, his hands behind Hannibal’s neck, and slowly began moving them away from the door and towards the bed. 

The taste of Hannibal on his lips was far sweeter than he had imagined over the years prior. He had always imagined fierceness and fire; instead, Hannibal’s mouth was reminiscent of the slow burn of an aged, fine scotch, intoxicating and leaving his own lips tingling in their wake. The spread of warmth from his lips, down his throat, through his belly and into his groin caused him to moan breathlessly into Hannibal’s perfect mouth. 

He felt Hannibal smile at his exhalation. “From kissing alone, dear Will?” Hannibal whispered, nipping at Will’s earlobe. “I can’t help but wonder what kinds of exhilarating sounds you will make for me when I take you into my mouth.” Hannibal licked the outer shell of Will’s ear, causing Will to shudder and dig his fingernails into the flesh of Hannibal’s neck. 

Though Will had been the one guiding Hannibal backwards across the room, Hannibal quickly spun them and pushed Will down. Will steadied himself, landing on the edge of the bed, and looked up towards Hannibal. 

Hannibal’s mouth watered at the look in Will’s eyes. Mostly black, his pupils blown wide, the small amount of blue that shone around the very edges practically glowed. Will’s mouth hung slightly agape, and he flicked his tongue gently and thoughtlessly over his lower lip, causing it to shine in the overhead light. 

Hannibal was overcome with the absolute need to taste him, this vision of a man in front of him. His friend, apprentice, his Will Graham.

Hannibal hungrily closed his mouth over Will’s, his hands moving towards Will’s trousers. With barely any effort, he unbuttoned and unzipped Will’s tuxedo pants, dipping his hands beneath the waistband on either side of Will’s hips.

“Lay back for me, please.”

Will did as he was told with no hesitation, and Hannibal swiftly pulled both Will’s pants and briefs off in one smooth action. 

The room stilled, both men holding their breath. 

Will, threadless and nearly panting, lay out in front of Hannibal, knees spread, one arm behind his head, the other gripping their bedsheet tightly. Hannibal drank in the sight of him, from the color and vastness of his flesh, to the soft appearance of the hair that dusted his chest, legs, and between his thighs. 

Hannibal wondered, in that moment, how many times he had imagined this scenario in his mind over the last few years. He had spent hours sketching what he believed Will to look like, bare, his body surrounded by silk sheets. In his imagination, Hannibal had always been rough with Will, had taken control of him until he had gotten what he wanted. Hannibal hadn’t imagined this feeling of being utterly lost when he finally had Will before him. He hadn’t dared imagine that he would be overcome with emotions that he thought himself to be incapable of feeling, that gazing upon Will’s body would be more pleasurable and soul-shattering than gazing upon his favorite paintings.

In his fantasies, he had never created the illusion that Will would welcome him to indulge in his body. He had always imagined that he would have to take; it never occurred to him that Will would give himself to Hannibal freely. 

Hannibal had never thought it truly possible that Will could ever want him. 

The realization of what was happening hit Hannibal full force as he stood above Will, sprawled out in their shared bed. In their shared bedroom, in their home. Will was here, with him, waiting for him, visibly aching for his touch. It was everything that he had ever wanted, and he was floored to feel absolute disbelief and adoration flow through him. Floored, but not ashamed, as he felt tears well in his eyes. 

“Hannibal? Are-are you okay?” Will propped himself up on his elbows, his brows furrowing in concern. 

Hannibal felt tears hit his chest, and he nodded, once, slowly.

“You are the most beautiful creation that I have ever witnessed, William.”

Will’s heart froze in his chest at Hannibal’s proclamation. Hannibal had been the only person to ever truly see him, inside and out, and yet, Hannibal found him not ugly, but beautiful. It was nearly too much; yet Will still needed more.

“Hannibal. Come here.”

Will leaned forward and used both hands to grasp Hannibal’s wrists, and leaned back onto the bed, Hannibal falling between his open thighs. Cupping his hand to the back of Hannibal’s neck, Will brought him down to his mouth, and spread Hannibal’s teeth with his tongue. Will lapped into Hannibal’s mouth, sliding their tongues together, bringing them as close as he possibly could. Hannibal began to respond in kind, running his hands over Will’s chest, dragging his fingers slowly over Will’s ribs. Will shivered at the light touches. 

Hannibal broke their kiss, letting his lips move down Will’s face, his throat, his collarbones. Will lay still, enjoying the sensations. When Hannibal took one of his nipples into his mouth and flicked his tongue, Will cried out, arching his back in automatic response. Hannibal repeated the action, dragging his tongue mercilessly, and Will grabbed his sandy hair and yanked his head back until Hannibal was looking at him.

“Two things, Hannibal, please. Take your pants off, and touch me, for fuck’s sake.”

Will experienced the fleeting thought that he would never tire of Hannibal following his instruction. Within seconds, Hannibal was kicking off his pants and boxers, standing before Will naked. Will swallowed heavily and audibly as he drank in the sight before him. Most of Hannibal’s body was not a mystery to him, however, Will found that the sight of Hannibal’s fully engorged cock, flushed dark and heavy, caused his own dick to twitch with want. He had never reacted to a man’s body like this before, but instead of letting his reaction bother him, he once again leaned forward and pulled Hannibal on top of him. 

They both groaned simultaneously at the feel of their bodies colliding, flesh against flesh. Hannibal instantly began to move against Will, gliding their shafts together, hot heat trapped between them. Will screwed his eyes shut, focusing on the feeling of Hannibal’s body, gaining sweat and speed. He knew that he wouldn’t last long, that he was nearly tipped over the edge with Hannibal grinding them together.

“Hannibal, please, please, I’m going to…”

Hannibal stopped instantly, and Will keened at the loss of sensation. 

“No, Will. Not like this. I need to taste you, I’ve needed to taste you from the moment I saw you…” 

Will’s mind raced as Hannibal slid off of him and off of the bed, his knees hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud. He looked down for a moment to watch, to see what Hannibal was doing, but had to look away as to not come immediately at the sight of Hannibal sinking his mouth over his cock. Covered in the heat and slick from Hannibal’s mouth, Will fisted his hands into the sheets and bit back a yell, emitting a strangled noise instead.

Hannibal’s mouth left his body for a moment. “No, Will. No holding back. I want to hear you, and see you, and smell you, touch you, taste you…” Hannibal dipped his head back down at the moment that Will opened his eyes, and Will didn’t hold back a loud moan at the sight of Hannibal taking nearly his entire length into his mouth. Hannibal hummed in appreciation, which caused Will to buck his hips at the vibration. Hannibal didn’t pull back; instead, he hollowed his cheeks and dragged his mouth up slowly, so slowly…

“I feel like...ah...you’re...fuck, Hannibal...worshipping me…” Will cried out. Hannibal bobbed his head faster in response, and Will felt electric heat in the epicenter of his body as he tensed. The feeling of Hannibal’s mouth around him and the sight of Hannibal wantonly sucking his dick created a chasm of pleasure in his body, and though he never wanted it to end, he knew…

“Oh shit oh god oh honey, I’m going to come, please…”

Hannibal took him to the base a second time, and Will groaned loudly as he tumbled over the edge, spilling himself into the back of Hannibal’s throat. The world flashed white around him, and for a moment he was lost, the powerful rush of their kill combining with the utter intimacy of the moment overwhelming his mental fragility. Barely noticing that Hannibal had released him from the warm comfort of his mouth, Will was snapped back into the realm of reality by the anchor of Hannibal’s voice.

“You taste exquisite, William. I’ve always wanted to tear you apart, and like this...you’re so beautiful like this, baby.”

Will was aware of making a soft whining noise as Hannibal’s words drew out his orgasm, causing him to spill two more weakened strands of come onto his belly. Hannibal chuckled above him, obviously pleased at the reaction his intentional words had created, and Will opened his eyes to see him standing at the edge of the bed between Will’s knees, his hand stroking himself slowly, beads of precome forming at his hardened slit.

Will suddenly found himself overcome with possessiveness. “No!” he growled, using his feet to hook Hannibal behind his thighs, pulling Hannibal down onto him. Hannibal looked momentarily surprised, and then amused.

“Is there a problem?”

Will bit at Hannibal’s lower lip.

“You got to tear me apart, Hannibal. Where’s the fairness in not letting me return the favor?” He tried to keep his voice light, but it cracked with desire, causing a dark shadow to cross over Hannibal’s face. 

Hannibal watched with interest as Will gathered his own spent ejaculate into his right hand, bringing it up to his chest. Will flattened his palm against his chest and rubbed. When it clicked in his mind what Will was doing, Hannibal nearly spent himself, untouched.

“Oh, Will, my God…”

Will slicked his hand with the combination of his come and their victim’s blood and reached between them, taking Hannibal’s aching and dripping cock into his fist. Hannibal felt his eyes widen at the contact, and his mind went blank when Will stroked him tightly, curving his fist over the sensitive head. When Will repeated the motion, Hannibal let himself go, thrusting into Will’s fist roughly. 

“Jesus, yes, Hannibal. You’re incredible, you’re so fucking incredible like this...come on, take what you want from me, let me make you feel good, I want to make you lose control for me…”

Will found a delicious rhythm with his hand as Hannibal fucked into his fist earnestly. The combination of physical sensation and Will’s voice all but guaranteed that he wouldn’t last much longer, but oh, how he wanted to do this forever. It was exquisite, more than he ever could have hoped for. Hannibal closed his eyes and growled loudly, bucking his hips faster.

“That’s it, sweetheart. You don’t have to hide your monster from me. I like it, oh, you’re gorgeous, I can’t wait to feel this inside of me, Hannibal, my monster, my Ripper…”

Hannibal’s orgasm overtook him in an instant, and his system was too shocked to make a sound as he shot thick streams onto Will’s belly and chest. Will didn’t stop his hand, didn’t stop milking him until he was completely spent and beginning to soften. He leaned his forehead onto Will’s chest, trying to catch his breath, trying to regain his ability to think. He moved to roll off of Will, but was stopped by a gentle touch to the shoulder.

“In the continued spirit of fairness, I would like to taste you too, Hannibal.”

If he hadn’t already spent himself, Hannibal thought, that would have done the trick. He leaned back and used his tongue to lick his come off of Will’s stomach before leveling himself back up to Will’s face. He leaned down and pushed his tongue into Will’s mouth, let the other man lick the saltiness off until he hummed, content. 

Hannibal rolled off of Will, onto his back, and shimmied himself up on the bed until his head was on his pillow. Will followed quickly behind, laying his head on Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal’s arms closed around the smaller man, and for a few moments, they were silent.

“I’ve dreamed about that for years, Hannibal,” Will said softly, snaking his arm over Hannibal’s abdomen. “It was even better than I expected it to be.”

Hannibal thought for a moment. “Is it a surprise to you that this kind of intimacy exists between us?”

Will breathed against Hannibal’s chest. “If I was ever going to experience this level of intimacy, I knew that it would be with you, I suppose. You sank your claws into me in the very beginning until we...melded. It only makes sense that coming together physically would feel so...just.”

Hannibal debated on whether or not sharing his current thoughts would make him too vulnerable. He hated feeling vulnerable, he knew, but maybe he could find strength in being vulnerable with Will. 

“I never knew that I would be capable of feeling this much...well, this much. It’s pointless in trying to hide it from you, of all people. A monster, betrothed to an empath. It’s either a classic tragedy, or comedy, I’m not quite sure which.”

Will huffed out a breath of laughter. “We’re pretty tragic, you and I. But if we complete each other, then that must be okay.”

Hannibal’s throat tightened and his heart ached at the sentiment. He opened his mouth to utter the words that he hadn’t spoken aloud since the night that he lost Mischa…

...however, Will continued to speak.

“We could very well be comedic, as well as tragic, however. Hannibal, do you know the definition of trust?” Will shifted his head to look up into Hannibal’s eyes.

Hannibal did, of course, but he shook his head, waiting for Will’s response.

“Two cannibals, giving each other a blowjob.”

Startled at the joke and the delighted look on Will’s face as he told it, Hannibal started to laugh, spurring Will to do the same. They laughed until tears squeezed out of their eyes and they were gasping for breath, only stopping when their lips found each other, meeting in the middle once again.


	14. Gnawing

“Not only is it semen, but it belongs to exactly who I told you it would belong to. I’m telling you, your doubt in my instincts is bordering on insulting, Jack.”

Price continued to grovel on and on about his correct assumptions, but the rush of blood that flowed quickly through Jack’s veins and into his head drowned out every external sound. He closed his eyes and listened carefully to the pulsing beat for a few moments, thinking to himself that this was the sound of rage. This was the music of anger that he was experiencing in that very moment, and it was at the hands of Will Graham that he was made privy to the sound.

There were numerous other emotions bubbling beneath the anger of course, however, Jack was not going to take the time to identify his betrayal, his absolute remorse, his feelings of helplessness. Jack was used to letting anger take the reins when it came to Hannibal Lecter, and he figured at this point that he might as well become comfortable with the fact that Will Graham was now evidently assisting the Cannibal in steering him towards the ugly feeling. Jack was content with anger, used to it, and so he pushed everything else aside to focus on the new information at hand.

They had located the house on the cliff less than three weeks after the body of the Dragon had washed up on the beach shore. It was by pure luck really, as none of the efforts on behalf of the force had been successful in identifying any leads on Hannibal or Will. It had been a local teenager working a delivery route for a small grocery business that had reported being concerned about one of his clients, as he had not received payments on time from the typically punctual buyer. The kid had knocked on the door for days before sharing his fears with his boss, who promptly called the police to report the anomaly. The local police had expected to find one of two things; that the homeowner had sadly expired, or that the home would be empty and barren, the grocery buyer having simply up and left without the courtesy of notifying the grocer.

Of course, they had found much more than they had bargained for, including the camera that was identified as having belonged to Frances Dolarhyde. The call reached Jack less than 24 hours after the police arrived on scene, and the days that followed created a never-ending parade of questions, answers, and frustration.

After a moment, Jack slowly opened his eyes, let out the breath that he hasn't realized he had been holding, and began to categorize the plethora of evidence that lay before him. They were in the lab; himself, Price, and Zeller. Everything that had been deemed crucial at the crime scene had been hauled back with them, and was now spread out, taking up nearly every surface of the room. There were articles of clothing, silverware, packages of meat, items from both bathrooms in the house. Shards of glass from a broken window, empty wine bottles, knives, and medical equipment. Evidence of crime, of a period in the lives of two men that had eluded Jack for months. The sheer amount of evidence to support Jack's greatest fear lay bright in his line of vision, taunting him with their very existence. The fact that Jack had immediately recognized some of Hannibal’s clothing from years prior made his stomach twist and burn.

Since returning to the lab, Zeller had made himself busy processing samples of the meat that had been found in the upstairs refrigerator. It went without saying between the trio what the results of the testing would likely confirm; they were less concerned with what the meat was, as opposed to who it belonged to. Paired with the bloody rope that had been found in the basement, at the very least Jack was hoping to be able to solve a missing persons case. Maybe somebody would gain the opportunity to feel closure from this shit show. 

While Zeller processed the meat, Price had taken an interest in the sheets that they had stripped from the bed in the master bedroom. The blacklight test had immediately detected that some kind of human body fluid was present on the sheets, and Price was quick to quip about the possibility that some “killer hanky panky” had taken place.

“Don't be obtuse, Jack,” Price had admonished as he rubbed a q-tip against the dried stains. “Everything we've found so far indicates a scene of domestic bliss. If they killed together, cooked together, ate together, and played doctor together, it's logical to assume that they were also fucking. I mean, why not?”

It was that statement that had kept Jack awake late into the night, anxiously awaiting the results of the DNA test. If the ejaculate belonged to Hannibal, and Hannibal alone, Jack could easily add fuel to his fire in attack of Lecter and defense of Graham. If it happened to be Will’s sperm on the sheets, Jack would have to face many facets of unpleasant possibilities. The most unpleasant being that Will had gotten off with Hannibal present; even if Will had simply masturbated, that act itself indicated a certain level of comfort, and the idea of Will comfortably living beside the Chesapeake Ripper was equal parts disgusting and infuriating.

Now that the DNA results were in, confirming Price’s suspicions, Jack knew that he had to take his focus off of his emotions to be able to think logically. So it was true. Hannibal and Will, together, somewhere out in the big bad world. And Jack was going to find them. He was going to find them, that was a certainty, and he found himself thinking that he would not be responsible for his actions when he did so. What did he have to lose, at this point?

“Just Will’s, then?” Jack asked, putting on a pair of gloves to assist Price in bagging the sheets. They would be sealed in an airtight package and placed in the belly of the building, inside the evidence room. Jack and his team had categorized an overwhelming amount of evidence over the years that now lay forgotten in that dark room, yet he knew that he would never enter his workplace again without thinking of those fucking sheets. The sheets that had crumbled any remaining bond with his friend that had persisted over the last few months.

Jack wanted to burn them. It would make him feel slightly better, he knew, but flames could not wipe out his knowledge. So instead, the sheets were tagged and bagged.

“Just Will’s baby batter, yeah, but we did find some of Lecter’s blood on them, as well.” Price quirked his eyebrow at Jack. Jack opened his mouth to respond, but Zeller interrupted them.

“We got a hit on the meat.”

Jack and Price immediately dropped what they were doing and made their way over to Zeller, who swung his computer screen around to face them.

“Eric Kelley.” Jack read the man's name aloud, fixated on the mugshot before him. Pushing Zeller aside, Jack took control of the computer, using the mouse to scroll down the page. Jack's eyes expanded wider by the second at the length of the man's criminal record, which consisted of a multitude of varying crimes.

“Well, we're certainly not dealing with the Dalai Lama here, gentleman. He wasn't even reported as missing. Not surprising, I don't know how many people would miss an extorting thief-slash-sexual assailant gangbanger, honestly.” Zeller sighed and rubbed his temples, symbolizing the frustration shared by everyone in the room. No friends or family around to miss the guy meant a restricted possibility of finding out any meaningful information.

Regardless, Jack had to try.

“You guys keep doing what you're doing in here. I'm going to get a team working on retracing Kelley’s last steps. Good work as always, gentleman.” With that, Jack stepped out of the lab, grateful to be away from the mixed stench of warm blood and clinical cleanliness.

He had already dialed his lead investigator’s extension before he sat down at his desk. As soon as the line connected, he was off, tripping over his words.

“It's Crawford. Jack. I need you to assemble a team, five or six of your men, women, whatever, if possible. I have a name for you that needs follow up as soon as poss...”

“Jack, hey, yeah. Did...Did you not hear, or see on the news?” The voice on the other end of the line certainly didn't belong to Detective Stan, but rather his assistant (Martha? Marcy? Jack didn't care to recall). 

Jack's eyebrows crumpled in confusion. “Sorry, I thought I called his cell...what's happening?”

There was a heavy sigh on the other line. “Terrible Jack, just terrible. It's been all over the news since yesterday. Audrey's gone missing, poof, straight into thin air over in Europe. Steve's a mess, as you can understand. I've been screening all of his calls, even the personal ones. He doesn't want to be bothered right now; in fact, he's on his way to the airport as we speak. Audrey's friend over there in Paris reported her missing yesterday…” Martha/Marcy sighed, her words ceasing as though tumbling down to the bottom of a well.

“Christ, that's awful. Give him my regards, if you could. Why was Stan’s wife in Paris, didn't she just get back from the Caribbean?” Jack tapped his pen against his bottom lip, wondering when he would be able to change the subject without sounding uncaring. Jack was not an uncaring man, generally, but at that moment, he had issues that he considered to be more pressing.

“Oh, you know. Young pretty thing, friends all over the world, needs to be out and about all the time. Poor little thing, she was enjoying an opera with a friend and then she was just... gone. It's a pity. And scary.”

Jack uttered a noise of agreement. “Scary, indeed. Listen, could you transfer me over to Clint?” Jack needed someone on this, now.

“Sure thing, sweetie.”

Detective Clint wouldn't have been Jack's first choice, obviously; however, within 2 hours of the phone call, Clint had assembled a team of four men whose sole mission was to gather as much information about Eric Kelley as possible. When Jack left the office and climbed tiredly into his car, he felt a surge of confidence. A man with that kind of rap sheet? No doubt was he involved in some shady shit when he was taken in by Hannibal. They would find the link somewhere, and be able to place Hannibal and Will on some kind of time line. At least, that was the hope.

Jack was distracted on his drive home from the office. His mind was being pulled and stretched like taffy, in a thousand different directions. Trying to place all of the pieces of evidence together like a puzzle, while at the same time trying to focus on abstract reasoning in order to come up with some kind of alternative to what seemed to be the true narrative of what had occurred in the cliff-top house. 

All of these thoughts racing around in one man's head was cause for a distracting, unfocused cacophony. Yet at the same time, Jack was aware of a low hum somewhere in the base of his skull. A thought? An idea, or a theory? He wasn't quite sure. But it was persistent. And growing louder. More annoying, like the sound of an insect that just couldn't be found.

Later that night, somewhere near the witching hour, Jack sat up straight in his bed. Sweat poured down his forehead, stinging his eyes, and his chest burned from heaving in deep, pained breaths. The humming was louder now, had formed a cohesive thought in his mind that caused a gnawing in his gut.

A woman gone missing.

In Paris.

From an opera house.

Though Jack didn't always trust the instincts of others (case in point, Price), he always tentatively trusted his own.

The suspicion pooled in his belly didn't feel tentative. Not this time.

Jack reached over to his nightstand, picked up his phone, and dialed.


	15. Recognition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst, creepiness, and fluff,fluff, fluff.
> 
> Warning for mentions of (barely, but there) implied pedophilia.

Three weeks passed with relative ease, and Will started working at a small animal shelter ten miles north of their home. 

Will didn't need to bring in an income, as Hannibal had started seeing clients in his home office (and was equipped with an impressive wealth, anyways), so when Will went out to look for something to do, he found himself offering to volunteer for a few hours a week at the shelter. Somehow, after meeting with a multitude of employees, Will found himself interviewing with the director, regarding a part-time position recruiting and overseeing the shelter's volunteers. Will had arrived home late in the afternoon that day, and Hannibal had immediately inquired as to why Will had such a baffled look on his face. 

“Well...They hired me. Recruiting and training volunteers, 3 days a week. 12 euros an hour.”

Hannibal had smiled at Will then, leaning against the kitchen counter. “You should be pleased. Your charm is difficult to resist.” Will snorted, kicking off his boots and stepping into the kitchen. He stepped behind Hannibal, wrapped his arms around his waist, and leaned in, pressing his chest to Hannibal's back. He felt the other man’s warmth spread throughout his own body, reveled in the feeling of Hannibal’s muscles straining as he manually juiced an orange.

“It's borderline unbelievable. My French is atrocious, nearly as bad as their English. I honestly have no idea how that worked out. A rural little organization combined with low pay, I suppose. Must’ve been desperate.” 

Hannibal turned around and returned Will’s embrace. “I told you. Charm.” 

Hannibal laid a kiss the top of Will’s curls absently before releasing him, turning his focus back to mixing the marinade that he had been working on. Slowly, over the previous weeks, the days had become comfortable there, between them. Will had always believed Hannibal to be overly physical with him, since the beginning of their friendship nearly six years before. He had never minded it, not even then, when Hannibal would rest a hand on his shoulder, or when he would lean in during their therapy sessions, causing their knees to brush. He hadn't minded then, and he constantly strived for the contact, now. Will found himself reaching towards Hannibal to touch him during dinner, while doing dishes, when they were getting dressed in the mornings. There were kisses in the morning and throughout the day, the sweet domesticity causing an ache that was constant in their atmosphere. At night, their gentle, almost painfully casual kisses were replaced with fervent groping and moaning as they used their hands and mouths to please each other. 

After sex, however, the kissing and touching would almost immediately cease, and Will had started to wonder about the shift in dynamic. Not only did Hannibal appear to be really standoffish after they were intimate, but Will also recognized the inflating sense of discontent settling into his bones after the adrenaline of their passions wore off. He was growing uneasy, and he couldn't figure out why. 

At least, not until the night before his first day of work, when Hannibal shook him awake just after two in the morning. 

“Will, come on now. Open your eyes.” 

Will's body felt heavy with dread, rather than the terror that he used to feel when Hannibal would stir him from his night terrors. His mouth was dry, and his tongue felt like sandpaper when he opened his mouth to speak. “What...what's wrong? Was I... freaking out?” 

Will opened his eyes and used his hand to rub away the feeling of fatigue that was trying to pull them closed again. When he looked over to Hannibal, he was startled to find the other man's eyes shining bright with concern, and another emotion that the empath couldn’t quite identify. He couldn’t recall ever reading this emotion rolling off of Hannibal before, and his stomach instantly dipped unpleasantly. 

“No, you were...saying her name, repeatedly. Beverly’s name.”

An ice cold chill settled in Will's chest, and he bit back at Hannibal instantly, against his own restraint. “You don't get to say her name, Hannibal. You just...don't.”

Hannibal didn’t appear startled at Will’s outburst. Holding his eye contact, Hannibal attempted to throw an arm over Will’s chest, and the conflict that Will felt raging inside of his body caused him to flinch away from the soothing offer. Will sat upright quickly, and swung his legs over the side of the bed. He sat there, quietly, on the edge of the bed for what felt like hours. Hannibal remained observant enough to remain silent himself.

“I loved them, Hannibal. They were my friends, my family. They cared for me, much more than I deserved, sure. But they did it anyways.”

There was no confusion when Will began to speak of plural entities. Abigail’s name hung thick between them, as it always did. Some days, her presence was more palpable than on others. Never when they had sex, but always immediately after. Hannibal had become curious about the sensation, had wondered if the act of being intimate pushed Will’s mind into thoughts of family and their murdered surrogate daughter. Hannibal was uncertain of how to breach the subject without pushing Will away or causing him to become fiercely angry, so he had taken to allowing Will to process their relations on his own. Hannibal considered his own actions to be cowardly, which he despised. 

Though, it seemed to him that the tensions of their past were making themselves evident on that particular night. Hannibal remained silent, his quiet way of encouraging Will to continue talking. 

After a few moments, Will did just that. His voice came out broken, his pain echoing throughout the room in a way that made Hannibal’s heart panic.

“They were mine, and you killed them, Hannibal. You took them from me, yet here I am, living when they don’t get to, being pulled into an undertow of happiness and joy by the person who cut their lives short.” Will stood abruptly and began to pace the room. “You touch me, and I feel like an obsessed puppy. Putting my mouth on you feels like stepping into the eye of a hurricane, killing with you feels like coming home, Hannibal, and I am just...I am so fucked. What would they think, hmm? WHAT WOULD ABIGAIL AND BEVERLY POSSIBLY THINK OF ME?”

Will slumped against a wall, his shoulders heaving. Hannibal smoothly climbed out of bed and approached Will slowly, within his line of sight as to not surprise him or make any unwanted contact. Instead of embracing him as he wished to, Hannibal leaned against the wall himself, facing Will. An unnamed feeling flooded through his body at the sight of the tears squeezing themselves out of Will’s eyes. Every one of those tears, Hannibal had to claim, and when he realized that concept, he was able to name his emotion.

Hannibal felt ashamed. He hadn’t known that he was capable of doing so. 

“Will,” he whispered, as non-threatening as possible. “If they loved you as you say they did, which I do not doubt, I am certain that they would want you to live how you wish, in a way that lends itself to those feelings of happiness and joy. You so much as said it yourself; you are happy here, with me. I have never held you captive, I have never locked you away. You have been free to leave me at your desire, but you have chosen to stay. You have chosen happiness.”

Will scoffed, screwing his eyes closed. “Happiness with the man who murdered innocent people that I loved. Yeah, Hannibal, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind. Maybe not Abigail...Abigail may be happy for us, I’ve had that thought. But then, Abigail wasn’t completely innocent herself, was she? She was being molded into her own kind of monster by her Father, so maybe she would understand. But Beverly…” Will’s eyes opened and in them, Hannibal saw fire. “Beverly was innocent. She didn’t deserve to die, and she didn’t deserve to be displayed, inside and out.” He spat the last words with enough venom that Hannibal illogically expected to feel burned.

“You sent her my way, Will. Had she not been there, had she not discovered Abigail…”

Will physically startled at the statement. “What? Ab...you never told me that she found Abigail.”

Hannibal could feel Will deflating with this new piece of information, as he worked out what it would have meant if Beverly had returned to Jack with information about both Hannibal and Abigail. Hannibal’s immediate arrest, undoubtedly, and the possible arrest of Abigail as well. However, had Hannibal allowed Beverly to leave with Abigail…

“They would have released me, Hannibal. With Abigail alive, I could have been released.”

Hannibal nodded, slightly. “Of course, yes. However, you were going to be released eventually, and you were receiving proper medical treatment in the hospital. You were safe, there, and Abigail was safe with me. I meant what I had said, Will. I had created a spot for our family, in this world, and I needed myself and Abigail to be safe, for you.”

Will swallowed, loudly. “You were protecting her. For me. Until…”

Hannibal took over the sentence. “Until I killed her. They were on their way. As you said, they knew. I couldn’t let Abigail waste away in prison. She had never known freedom, even before, and she would have had even less there. She wouldn’t have survived it, Will. So I set her free. I…” Hannibal’s throat closed with tears. He couldn’t bring another word to escape his mouth, and instead, he let out a sob.

He was mildly surprised to feel Will’s arms come around him, but he fell into his lover’s embrace easily. Will stroked his hair, down the back of his neck and spine, and back up again. 

“I miss her too, Hannibal. I know, and I’m sorry. You can’t expect me to shut off my anger at losing them, and I have to recognize that you’re a human in a monster’s skin. Eventually, the sting will ebb, I know it will.”

The feeling of shame flared up within Hannibal once more at Will’s apology.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing.” It was barely a whisper against the flesh of Will’s collarbone. 

After guiding them back to bed, Will fell asleep before his head hit the pillow. As he calmed and dozed, Hannibal realized that Will’s ability to fall sleep quickly likely corresponded with the fact that he no longer felt the presence of Abigail in their room. 

“Sudie, dukra.”

The darkness swallowed his whispers first, before taking his consciousness. 

*

The way that the man looked at him made Will’s monster stir in his belly.

Their demons had recognized each other’s almost immediately, and were reaching out into the space between them, their desire to play with one another stronger than the fluorescent lights bathing their bodies in Will’s office. 

“Tell me, Mr. Rossi, how is your French?”

The prospective volunteer sat across from Will, on the other side of his desk. He was of small stature, looking nearly emaciated. His muddy brown hair had been slicked back and his thick moustache appeared to be in a state of disarray. The eyes that refused to leave Will’s shone in the reflection of the overhead lights, his pupils indiscernible from his dark irises. 

There was something rotten inside of him. Will struggled to keep his composure, as he was unused to the sensation of instantly being able to empathize with the beasts inside of others. He knew inwardly that his heightened awareness was likely due to the embracing of his own darkness, but that didn’t make him more comfortable. The man emitted a scent that burned the back of Will’s throat. Acrid. Dense.

“Ah, much better than my English, is my promise,” the man stated, his Italian accent heavy in his words, “though I am grateful to know enough to meet with you, Mr. Harris. I have good feelings, with you. I would much enjoy working with a person who understands.”

Will bristled at the man’s words. Mr. Rossi had been talking about language, obviously. There was nothing more that could be understood between them, surely.

“That’s good, Mr. Rossi. Now, the volunteer schedule can be a little erratic, given the changing availability of our volunteers. Do you have the ability to be on call, should we need you to be?”

His interviewee appeared to understand the question. “Oh, yes, yes. For right now I have no partner or child. Do you have children?”

Will slighted at the personal nature of the question. “I...I used to have a daughter.” The world escaped his lips before he could think them through, the memory of his and Hannibal’s late night discussion from the start of the week still fresh in his mind.

Mr. Rossi’s interest seemed to have peaked. “Oh, my. There is a story there, I know. How old, your little girl?”

There was a dense silence in the room which highlighted Will’s unwillingness to discuss Abigail any further. Rossi caved first.

“They are so fun, when they are little. I like them best that way. I am hoping to obtain one for myself, soon, a little girl.”

Alarms shrieked in Will’s subconscious as the nature of the other man’s beast reared it’s head to be recognized. Nausea built steadily in the pit of Will’s stomach as he forced himself to smile. 

“That’s great, Mr. Rossi, that you’re expecting a child. Would you like to come and meet the animals?”

*

“They loathed him, as I knew they would,” Will stated as he uncorked a bottle of wine. “Especially the dogs. They seemed absolutely disgusted by him. I thought Watson was going to attack him, and you know how gentle he is.”

Hannibal found it endearing that Will spoke as though he himself had been right there alongside Will as he helped care for the dogs at his shelter. Granted, Will had gushed about a few of the dogs, this Watson in particular, and Hannibal felt as though he had been acquainted with the canine. 

“You didn’t hire him then, I am to assume?” Hannibal brushed his fingers across Will’s shoulder as he stepped behind him at the table, walking to the other chair to take a seat of his own, next to where Will had already started eating his dinner.

“Oh, I most certainly hired him, on the spot. He starts his training with Isla first thing tomorrow morning.”

Will chuckled lightly at the surprised look on Hannibal’s face. Hannibal emoted very slightly with his facial expressions, though Will felt as though lately he had become more animated. Will enjoyed that new development, very much. 

“I want to keep an eye on him, Hannibal. The idea of him being out and about...unsupervised...makes me uneasy.”

Hannibal made a small noise of agreement in the back of his throat and took a small sip of his wine, swishing it in his mouth to obtain the notes.

“Also,” Will continued, “I might wish to kill the pig.”

Hannibal inhaled sharply, causing him to sputter and choke a bit on his wine. Will made a joke about it later that night, as he fucked vigorously into Hannibal’s mouth. 

*

It was unusual for Will to sleep late into the morning. The morning after his interview with Rossi, however, he found himself teetering on the edge between sleep and wakefulness for hours, having not slept well the night before. The tension between Hannibal and himself had dissipated following his outburst a few nights before, and he had been basking in the feeling of being well rested after the sound sleep that he had been getting at night. When he finally arrived at full consciousness, he cursed Rossi under his breath, the twisted fucking bastard.

It was the banging of the front door that had finally startled him awake. He had not doubt that it was Hannibal, who had wriggled free of Will’s grasp hours before, with the sunrise. Typically, Hannibal would have woken him for breakfast before seeing his first client of the morning. Will’s grumbling stomach cried out in anger as the put on his robe and headed downstairs to see what the banging around was all about.

Hannibal was removing his shoes in the entrance when Will cleared his throat as he reached the bottom of the stairs. Hannibal smiled up at him, and Will allowed languid feelings of adoration and arousal to wash over him.

“Where have you been all morning? Do you not have clients today?”

Hannibal approached him and instantly tangled himself in Will’s arms. Hannibal inhaled deeply; Will rolled his eyes out of Hannibal’s sight. He had become used to being smelled by Hannibal, who had declared Will’s natural scent to be “intoxicating.” 

“I decided to go and meet your playmate, William. I wanted to see him for myself.” 

The terminology felt wrong, all the way down to Will’s core. “Don’t call him that, Hannibal. Please.” He untangled himself from Hannibal’s clutch and padded into the kitchen to make coffee. “What did you think?”

Hannibal followed Will closely. “I think you’re correct. There is an evil inside of him. He made the hairs stand up, on the back of my neck. I would be in agreement should you wish to pursue your earlier statement of ending him.”

The tone of Hannibal’s voice blanketed Will in a wave of pleasant heat. He poured coffee into the French press on the counter.

“I’m glad that you felt it, too. I thought for a moment that I-”

Will was abruptly interrupted by a loud noise coming from the back door. He wasn’t sure what it was, but the sound reminded him of nails on a chalkboard. Ruffled, Will sent Hannibal a quizzical look, and walked down the hallway to open the back door. When the door fell open, Will was nearly knocked off of his feet immediately in a blur of white and grey fur. 

“Wha-Watson?! What are you...Hannibal, what is he…?” Will was unable to complete his sentences, as he was too preoccupied with petting the Husky pup that was circling around his legs in the hallway, tail wagging. Before Hannibal could answer, Will was following Watson outside and into the backyard. 

“I couldn’t leave without him, William. You were correct; he feared Rossi, immensely.”

The smile that spread widely across Will’s face gave him a youthful glow, making Hannibal’s heart heavy in his chest. 

“But Hannibal, you don’t even like dogs.”

Hannibal’s lips quirked up in the corners. “I don’t mind them. I would call myself indifferent. But you...you should see how radiant you are right now, Will. I will do anything to create this feeling, for you.”

Hannibal barely had a moment to finish his sentence before Will’s lips were crashing onto his, eagerly and with heat. Will kissed him deeply, breaking away only when he heard Watson yipping in the yard, his way of pleading Will to come and play with him. 

Will hugged Hannibal tightly, quickly. “Thank you, Hannibal,” he whispered, his breath awakening butterflies in Hannibal’s mind. “I...I adore you, you know.” Will placed one more quick kiss to Hannibal’s lips and broke away, running into the yard towards the puppy, who was wagging his tail enthusiastically. 

Hannibal brushed his tongue over his bottom lip, the feeling of Will still lingering. The remnants of the kiss tasted like sunlight and salt, and Hannibal loved Will desperately.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation: "Sudie, dukra," or Lithuanian for "Goodbye, daughter."  
> At least according to Google translate, which we all know is the most reliable tool to ever exist.
> 
> Thank you guys tremendously for the kudos and comments! I bubble over with excitement for each and every response to this story, and I could not be more appreciative to be a part of this beautiful fandom.


	16. The Monster of Uncertainty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so. This is a short chapter, and it's short for a reason. Will and Hannibal are getting closer to hunting down the creepy, is-he-or-isn't-he-a-child-predator character, who is discussed heavily in this chapter. 
> 
> My intention was for Hannibal to comfort Will, and for that comfort to evolve into smut. As I was writing, I realized that I really don't feel comfortable having these two themes in the same chapter, so I cut it in half. I'm posting the first half tonight, and I will follow up with the fluffy, smutty half tomorrow. I apologize if it causes any kind of rift in the flow of the story, but it's for my own comfort and sense of responsibility to the seriousness of the situation at hand.
> 
> Again, thank you so much for all of the positive feedback in the comments section, and for every kudos left. You guys are the best!! 2/3 of the story is complete according to my outline, so things will begin accelerating pretty quickly as far as plot goes. The gravity of my appreciation for those of you who are sticking with me for the long haul is immeasurable.

Will managed to avoid Rossi, nearly entirely, for three days.

Will was careful to assign Rossi to train with their most experienced volunteer, a middle aged woman named Isla. Will works on training the second volunteer that he brought on at the same time as Rossi; though he wanted to keep an eye on the man, he didn’t think his system could handle their alter selves lashing out at each other as they had during their interview. Will’s own beast was beginning to feel agitated and unfurled beneath his breastplate as it were, it’s want to escape and stretch it’s wings a low burn in Will’s core. He didn’t want to speed along his desire’s growth, and so he scheduled Rossi on opposite shifts, just overlapping long enough for the two of them to exchange small pleasantries, and for Will to glance into Rossi’s car on the way to his own. What he was expecting to see, he didn’t know, but the mention of Rossi soon acquiring a child had stuck with him, He couldn’t shake the statement, and so he continued to check.

As it were, the checking turned out to be fruitless and quite pointless as well. Will was in his small office, working on the volunteer schedule for the following week, when he heard the front door to the shelter creak open. His chest tightened; he had gone in early that morning, before anybody else was supposed to arrive to open the shelter to the public. They were a small shelter, only open four days a week, from late morning to late afternoon. As they had only a smattering of animals available for adoption, their week had been running slow, only two volunteers on shift at a time. Will’s new volunteer, Mathieu, wasn’t due to help Will for another hour. 

“Calm down,” Will muttered to himself, standing. “They’re not going to find you, Graham. They’re not.”

Will had been harboring a slow burn of paranoia and fear over the last few days, ever since Hannibal had gifted him Watson. Something about the feeling of completion that had dawned on him that night brought along with it the choking thought of just how badly he wished for his life to continue on as it was; with Hannibal, in their home, working at the shelter, having a dog and projects outside to occupy his time. He had ultimately decided to quash all feelings of guilt regarding Molly and Walter; he loved them, and therefore, he had done right by them with his absence. With them, life had been simple and enjoyable, but repressed. No longer did he feel that suffocating repression of himself, having so many avenues to release and express; through sex with Hannibal, or through cooking, through the knowledge that Hannibal would embrace him when he felt the need to kill. It was all Will had ever wanted (if only Abigail…) and he was terrified to lose it. He now understood the fear that Hannibal must have felt in Florence, the fear of evasion and taught carefulness. The fear that Will was hunting him to bring him in. He hadn’t been hunting Hannibal, he thought. He had been seeking him.

Will let out a huff of relief when he saw that it was Rossi in the lobby, and not the Police Nationale (ortheFBIorJackCraword) there to arrest him. He nearly collided with the man, who seemed to have been making his way to Will’s office. 

“Ah! James, yes, it is you I wanted to see. How are you, this morning?”

The sound of Rossi’s voice caused Will’s skin to prickle. Will didn’t fear him, or his Monster, and almost found it amusing that he reacted so caustically to Rossi. He wasn’t a killer; Will knew. He could sense it. His demon was different, wretched, preying on the weak and defenseless. Again, Will wondered if it was his keen empathy or his own darkness that recognized what Rossi was. It didn’t matter, of course. All that mattered in the moment was that Will rid himself of the putrid man before him.

“Bien. De quoi avez-vous besoin?” Will had been trying to immerse himself in the language by utilizing French as much as he could at work. His volunteers were kind and quick to correct his grammar, which he appreciated.

“I wish to know of the schedule, for next week,” Rossi responded in heavily accented English. “I have a new child and must schedule her for child care...yes? Child care, is that right?”

It took all of Will’s effort to breathe normally, though his nerves were firing from all cylinders. He responded before fully thinking.

“Yes, that’s right, Rossi. Where...how did you come about a child?”

If Rossi suspected anything was amiss, he ignored it completely. “From an orphanage, a group home for the children. I...love children, James, and it was time to bring one home with me.” He paused, licked his lower lip. Will felt a wave of nausea. Rossi met his eye.

“You seem playful to me, James. Do you like to play?”

(I could stab him with the scissors on my desk or strangle him with a leash and call Hannibal Hannibal will come and help me so nobody will know)

Will’s quickening thoughts were interrupted by a loud, blaring horn from outside. Both men jumped, the tense energy between them broken. Rossi laughed. “She must have found the car horn, the small devil. Can I have a copy of the schedule, please, to plan for the child care? I must get her home.”

Later, when Will arrived home, he could barely piece together the memory of giving Rossi the schedule or seeing him out of the building. When Will closed the glass door behind Rossi as he left, sure enough he could see a flash of blonde hair in the front seat of the car, the child not tall enough for her face to be exposed through the window. Will had walked around in a trance for the rest of his day, his inner panic rising until he informed Isla that he was ill and that he needed to leave early. 

Will knew that Hannibal was with a patient when he arrived home, an unfamiliar car in the driveway. Will let himself in through the gate in the back yard and was immediately attacked by Watson, who darted from his favorite spot beneath the back porch and into Will’s expectant arms. Will knew that he should make Watson a doghouse. Hannibal’s gesture had been very kind, but Hannibal was not a dog lover like Will. Will was aware that while he was at work, Watson spent most of his time outside or in the garage. It was likely for the best, Will thought absently, as Watson was still a growing pup who needed to learn manners. It would be unprofessional to have the dog bouncing on clients as they made the short walk from the side door to Hannibal’s office space.

Will was sitting on the back porch with Watson curled up at his feet when Hannibal came outside half an hour later. Will heard the gravel spin in the driveway as the client left. Hannibal regarded Will with surprise.

“I wasn’t expecting you home for another hour, Will. I meant to go to the market before…”

“I think he’s stolen a child, Hannibal.”

For once, Hannibal didn’t chide Will for interrupting. He had been leaning in to give Will a kiss on the cheek, but he froze at Will’s strangled sounding statement and leaned back, slowly.

“Tell me.”

Will confided in Hannibal every detail that he remembered from his interaction with Rossi in the morning, including his chilling question about being playful, and the visual confirmation of a child in his car. Hannibal stood, straight and still, as Will regaled his tale.

“There is no guarantee that he will hurt the child, though I am trusting of your instincts, and my own. It is quite discomforting.”

Will snorted. “Yeah, good word choice. What do we do? I know that we can’t go to the police, and I looked over his application again, his address is listed as a P.O. box. He’s just a volunteer, not a paid employee, the Director doesn’t pay much attention or request a lot of background information on his volunteers. Their performance is for me to oversee...I know. I know that I can’t be sure that he’ll hurt her, but this feeling...I can’t shake it. We...I have to do something to assure that he either is or isn’t.”

Hannibal nodded once, a look of resolution on his face.

“What is his full name, and physical description? Also, do you remember his P.O. box number?”

Hannibal didn’t write anything down when Will shared the information with him, just listened before silently turning on his heels and making his way back into the house. Will didn’t follow him, preferring not to bother Watson, who still slept at his feet. Hannibal poked his head out of the back door some time later.

“Dinner, William.”

Hannibal spoke to him as he served Will, already having set the table. “I contacted Seamus, back in Baltimore. I provided him with necessary information so that he can find out more about your volunteer. As you know, Seamus is very efficient; we will know more very soon, and should there be a course of action necessary, we will take it. Remember Will, he could have obtained that child legally as he claimed, and he may intend her no harm.”

Will felt his muscles relax at Hannibal’s words. He was right, of course. His instincts had been inscrutably wrong in the past; they could be wrong now. And they were doing something about it, about his hunch. They weren’t ignoring it. Will felt contented, even if worry still hung slightly heavy on his shoulders. 

“Thank you. I know you don’t have to use your resources and risk our safety just for some kid who may or may not be in harm’s way, so thank you.”

Hannibal sat down at the table and grasped Will’s hand. When Will looked up, he saw that Hannibal’s eyes were bright and filled with malice.

“If there is any indication that he has done anything at all out of line to a little girl, we will end him.”

Will chose not to push Hannibal on the matter, the vehemence in his voice making it evident that the matter should not be pressed. Instead, Will squeezed Hannibal’s hand tightly, and dove into his food, the concept of hunger and basic need having returned to him with the tide of his relief that something was being done about the matter.

Will took a bite of his food, savoring the first taste. He grinned at Hannibal.

“I see we’re having Audrey kidney pot pie, no? It’s delicious. Thank you.”

The wrinkles of worry and anger smoothed from Hannibal’s forehead as he returned Will’s smile.


	17. Over the Cliff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Smut, as promised.
> 
> With fluff, because I'm only human and fluffy serial killers are my jam.
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> Brief mention of child pornography at the end, no in depth descriptions of harm to a child, nor will there ever be.

“I know you indicated that you’re fine, Will, but let me rub your shoulders, please. I can feel your tension from here.”

Will rubbed his eyes. Hannibal was right, of course. The position in which he was holding his body as he worked on tightening a line around his new fly fishing lure wasn’t exactly comfortable. He set the lure down on his desktop, and crossed the bedroom to join Hannibal in their bed, where Hannibal was currently reading a book by the light of his bedside lamp. Hannibal shuffled over to make room for Will, closed his book, and assisted Will with bringing his shirt over his head. 

Hannibal felt the corners of his lip quirk up slightly when Will let out a loud groan at the feeling of Hannibal’s hands kneading his muscles. Hannibal knew that his years of experience as a physician gave him secondary skills as an unusually proficient massager, as well. He flexed his fingers roughly, using his sense of touch to locate knots in Will’s shoulders before mercilessly manipulating them with his thumbs and palms. He was sitting behind Will, his legs stretched straight out in a V shape, with Will’s back leaning into the space of his chest. He could feel the heat roiling between their bodies. Combined with the pliancy of Will’s muscles and flesh beneath him, he was powerless to stop his own arousal, as he often was with Will. Hannibal’s well trained body had begun to betray him, undergoing a nearly Pavlovian response when in the same room as Will. The other man had always equated to feelings of intrigue, compassion, and fascination for Hannibal; now, the sight of Will Graham stirred undertows of want, heady pleasure, and utter devotion. 

He ached to sink his teeth into the muscles of Will’s shoulder. Not one to miss an opportunity for self-fulfillment, he allowed himself to do so. 

His blood surged hot through his veins at the low hiss that escaped from Will’s lips when his teeth sank into the flesh of Will’s left shoulder. Instead of asking him to stop or crying out in objection, Will leaned himself back into Hannibal until they were flush, back to chest. He leaned his head to one side, exposing miles of throat to Hannibal’s wanting mouth. It was a feast in the Ripper’s eyes, and he took full advantage.

Throat bruising, Will shifted himself further into Hannibal’s space, practically sitting in his lap. The weight of Will against his erection caused Hannibal to breathe in sharply, releasing the suction that he had on Will’s throat. The combination of Will’s low chuckle at his reaction and the shift of Will’s ass on his cock caused Hannibal’s vision to blur.

Losing hold of his typical stoic demeanor, Hannibal used both hands to hook his thumbs beneath Will’s sleep pants, urging them down with Will’s help. With Will’s hips temporarily up in the air, Hannibal disposed of his own pants with lightning speed. Having stripped them both down, Hannibal put his hands on either side of Will’s hips, and lowered his body back onto his own. 

Both men released guttural sounds when their bare flesh made contact. Will immediately began to writhe in an obscene up and down manner, causing the expanse of his back to rub heavily over Hannibal’s hard nipples. Will ground his body down harder, and faltered only for a moment at the feeling of Hannibal’s hard-on sliding between the cheeks of his ass, wet with pre-come. After the momentary pause, Will ground harder, faster.

Hannibal couldn’t pinpoint from where the majority of his pleasure was being derived; from the feeling of hot flesh gliding around his dick, or the small whimpering sounds that Will was making every time he dragged Hannibal’s hardness against his own hole. Hannibal bucked himself up, approaching climax. Harder...harder...closer.

Will stilled above him suddenly, his body shaking. “Hannibal...fuck, wait, please.”

Hannibal stilled immediately, using the opportunity to take in a few gulps of air. 

“Are you alright?”

Will nodded at first, the back of his curls tickling the side of Hannibal’s face. Slowly, his nod turned into a shake of his head.

“I am, you’re okay, this is...more than okay, I just...I feel like I’m losing control.” Will’s breath hitched at the end of his statement. 

Hannibal thought for a moment. “Then take control, Will.”

When the smaller man didn’t make a move, Hannibal shifted and used his strong hands to pivot Will and turn his body, until Will was positioned above him between his legs, and they were face to face. Almost immediately, Will brought his face down to Hannibal’s and took his lower lip between his own. Hannibal melted into the kiss, putting his hands on Will’s back and exerting pressure, bringing them chest to chest. Without breaking their kiss, Hannibal raised his hips, rubbing them together. Will sighed into his mouth and returned the motion.

Hannibal broke their kiss, nibbled his way up to Will’s ear, and managed to find his voice, enough to whisper.

“Control me from the inside, my love.”

Will drew his head back, his eyes wide.

“...Hannibal…”

Hannibal leaned over, blindly opening the bedside drawer and fishing out a small glass bottle filled with a viscous clear lubricant. He held it towards Will expectantly, raising his eyebrows when Will just stared.

“Are you scared?”

Will let out a shaky laugh, absently moving above Hannibal, his body seeking friction. 

“Not scared, no. Just ignorant. And, well...flattered.”

Hannibal smiled softly. “Flattered that I would let you fuck me, or that I referred to you as ‘my love?’”

Will growled at Hannibal’s snarkiness and attacked Hannibal’s mouth with his own. Hannibal hadn’t expected such a violent reaction, and it pleased him greatly. While Will worked his mouth, Hannibal unscrewed the bottle of lube and grabbed one of Will’s hands from off of the bed, causing Will to slump down onto one elbow. Breathing heavily, Will watched as Hannibal poured lubricant onto Will’s middle and index fingers. It was warm and thick on his hand.

“Don’t fret about your ignorance, Will. I’ve a reputation as an excellent teacher. Now, you have to open me for you. Start with just one, and go slowly. Can you do that, for me?”

Will nodded and sat up between Hannibal’s legs. Hannibal splayed himself wide at the hips, giving Will easy access. His dick twitched at the look on Will’s face; mouth slightly agape, pupils blown wide. A man lost in the desert, preparing to wade into cool waters.

Will was hesitant and tender as he positioned his middle finger at Hannibal’s opening. He nudged himself in, so slowly, sinking his finger in up to the first knuckle. 

“You’re so warm…” Will’s words drifted off as he crooked his finger gently, as though wanting to feel the inside of the cusp. Frustrated and needing more, Hannibal pushed himself towards Will in a quick, fluid motion, engulfing Will’s finger to the hilt. It was Will rather than Hannibal who cried out with the action.

“You won’t break me, that I promise you.”

Before Hannibal could complete his sentence, Will began to extract his finger slowly, before powering it back into Hannibal’s body roughly. Hannibal swallowed a moan at the sight of Will’s eyes darkening further as he watched himself fingering Hannibal with fast, hard strokes. His fingers impossibly wet and sliding in and out with ease, he added his second finger without Hannibal’s instruction. Hannibal could no longer hold back his moan. 

Will grinned, fucking Hannibal on his fingers with abandon. “Does it hurt?” He asked, not slowing his pace.

Hannibal reached up to grip Will’s curls, twisted and pulled. “No, but it will….hmm, start spreading your fingers, stretch me more...it will hurt a little bit,when you fill me.”

Will bit his lower lip and curled his fingers.

Hannibal jumped, his back arching off of the bed. “Oh! Excellent, Will. Again.”

Will did what he could to brush Hannibal’s prostate upon every re-entrance of his fingers, ensuring to scissor them with his movements. He watched beads of ejaculate roll down Hannibal’s swollen dick, and couldn’t resist leaning forward and taking Hannibal into his mouth. Hannibal’s hand tightened in his hair, and he spoke something in a language that Will could not identify. Will took Hannibal as far into his mouth as possible, aimed to attack his prostate with his fingers, hallowed his cheeks, and began to draw himself upwards.

Hannibal came without warning, other than a low keening sound from the back of his throat. Will drank him greedily, grinning at the amount of ejaculate that he was able to milk out of his lover. Becoming overly sensitive, Hannibal pulled Will up gently by his hair and made Will meet his eyes.

“I’m beginning to doubt your prior pleading of ignorance,” Hannibal said, appearing completely serious. Will let out a loud and genuine laugh, continuing to scissor in and out of Hannibal slowly. 

“I assure you, I’ve never been intimate with anybody quite like this. Besides, it’s you. You’re my monster; I know what makes you tick.”

A look that resembled Hannibal’s opera-appreciation face passed over him, and he closed his eyes, breaking his eye contact with Will. Eyes remaining closed, Hannibal fumbled about, again holding the bottle of lube towards Will.

“I’ve always needed you burrowed somewhere inside of me, Will. Have from that first moment. Please, please, take your place inside of me.” There was a tenderness in his voice, a pained pleading, that changed the tone of their activities from rough and biting to something serious, something with meaning. 

Will slowly removed his fingers and this time, took the bottle from Hannibal. He poured the clear fluid into his right hand and promptly dropped the bottle onto the floor, not caring if the small amount that was left spilled. He coated himself with the lubricant, aligned himself with Hannibal’s opening, and shifted his body so that he had his elbows crooked behind Hannibal’s knees. Slowly, achingly, he inched his hips forward.

The tight heat of Hannibal’s body overtook him, inch by agonizing inch. He felt Hannibal’s muscle stretch, and knew that it must hurt, but the absolute look of NEED on Hannibal’s face urged him to continue. And so he did, filling Hannibal until there was no room left, until he was completely and totally enveloped in Hannibal’s body. 

Will stayed just there for a moment, only moving to drop Hannibal’s legs and reposition himself so that his arms were behind Hannibal’s back, his hands curved over the top of Hannibal’s shoulders. Hannibal leaned up to kiss him, slowly, not urging Will to move in any way.

Will looked at himself from the outside. Saw himself there, in that bed, his body joined with this beautiful creature, this butcher of humanity itself. He saw his past, dancing dangerously around Hannibal’s secret, Hannibal entering his own body with a blade, lying awake for countless nights missing Hannibal painfully when he was imprisoned. Will saw himself killing with the man beneath him, covered with blood black as tar. 

Will watched himself complete them both as he slowly began to pump in and out of Hannibal’s body. 

Hannibal let out continuous breathy sighs every time Will thrust into him, his eyes still closed. Hannibal had taken many lovers in his life, had dominated every single one of them. Letting Will take him was better than anything he had ever experienced. Will had always known him on a different plane than anybody else ever had; Will now knew him not only mentally, but completely. 

“Open..Hannibal, open your eyes. I want to see you…” Will’s speech was broken, his breathing increasing with his pace. 

Hannibal did as he was told, opening his eyes to watch Will consume him.

The moment their eyes met, Will seemed to lose his ability to keep a rhythm with his thrusts, and started fucking Hannibal with abandon, his groin slapping against Hannibal’s body loudly. Hannibal cried out despite himself.

“Oh. Yes, Will, you’re perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect….” Hannibal was reduced to repetitive sentiment that seized Will’s heart and squeezed.

Will leaned his head down, rested his forehead to Hannibal’s, increasing his speed to an absolutely brutal pace, groaning into Hannibal’s mouth. 

“Will, come for me, inside, I want to feel you inside of me, I want to soak you up, be apart of me, want all of you, want to absorb you, want to fuck you, kill you, eat you, want you to eat me, kill me….” Hannibal gasped loudly as he came a second time, untouched and by surprise. 

Will made a sharp whining sound, his mouth having moved to Hannibal’s ear. “Yes, yes, fuck, Hannibal nothing is better than you nothing is better...love you...love you...I love you…”

Will’s orgasm overtook his ability to speak as he spent himself inside of Hannibal, giving him everything that he had wanted. Hannibal rubbed his hands up and down Will’s spine as he spiraled downward, his convulsions slowly decreasing. Hannibal was silent, but Will hissed as he removed his softened cock from Hannibal’s body.

Sleep overtook Will almost immediately after Hannibal rolled them over onto their sides and spooned Will from behind. His body and mind both equally heavy, Will couldn’t quite discern what Hannibal was whispering into his hair, but the words felt like declarations of death and love.

*

Something about the tone of Hannibal’s voice snapped Will out of his deep slumber immediately. 

“What, Hannibal? What’s wrong?”

Hannibal had turned on the overhead light, and Will could see that it was completely black outside of their bedroom window; still night. Hannibal was hastily throwing on a pair of pants, already clad in socks and a pair of underwear. He threw a pile of clothes down onto the bed, next to Will.

“Get dressed. Seamus called.”

A boiling feeling of sickness rose in Will’s gut as he hurriedly grabbed the pair of jeans and black t-shirt that Hannibal had tossed in his direction. “Rossi?”

Hannibal nodded, pulling a dark sweater over his head. “He fled Italy a few months back after his home was raided and child pornography was found. His new residence is about 20 kilometers from here...Rossi is not his name, Seamus had to send me his photo to confirm his identity. His name is...it doesn’t matter. I don’t wish to speak it, the name of that filthy pig…”

“And the girl, Hannibal? What about the fucking KID?” Will was frantic now, pulling his clothes on as quickly as possible. Something about the urgency in Hannibal’s usually calm voice was making his skin buzz unpleasantly, anxiety building in his chest.

“Seamus dug a bit. A girl, 4 years old, blonde hair, was taken from an orphanage a few hours away from here, 2 nights ago. There is no evidence to tie him to the crime, but…”

“Shit,” Will exclaimed, following Hannibal out of the room. Neither of them bothered to turn off their bedroom light.

“Precisely. William…” Hannibal stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked at Will darkly. “We must purge him, you understand this. We must rid the world of his deviance. We can take the girl to a church, or a hospital, but he...he must not be allowed to live.”

Will returned Hannibal’s gaze with his own; he could feel the flames behind his own eyes.

“Let us bring the slaughter to the pig, darling.”


	18. Completing the Circle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all of the wonderful comments and kudos! This fandom is the best, and I love you all. 
> 
> This story is officially and precisely 3/4 complete. I will continue to update at least weekly, although I find myself excited to move into the last act, so hopefully I'll find the time to update more frequently. I am especially excited for these last six chapters as I plan to include more of Jack, and who doesn't love Jack?

Will found it fortunate that Rossi’s house was tucked back in a nook of thick trees, at the end of a twisting, winding road.

It was convenient, the woods, and very conducive to hiding their car off of the main road about a quarter mile from Rossi’s small cabin-like structure. They had not spoken to each other during the drive; neither felt the need to do so. Their identical intentions lay thick in the air between them, and when Will sensed his sinister shadow reaching out to meet Hannibal’s, he was reminded of the vast difference between their particular brand of evil and that of the piece of excrement that they were preparing to snuff out of existence. A hot feeling of singular desire burned through his body, an excitement incomparable to anything that he could identify. Will wondered briefly if he was also experiencing Hannibal’s murderous desire through the tendrils of his empathic gift, if that was why he was experiencing a heightened sense of merciless thrill, higher than he had ever experienced before.

Hannibal was his chaos, he realized, and he was Hannibal’s calm.

Will didn’t feel the need to speak until they were mere yards away from the house on foot, sinking low to be hidden by the trees and foliage on the property. There were no outside lights, and there didn’t appear to be any lights on inside of the home, either, save a muted blue tone dancing from beneath one of the curtains. A television or computer, it would appear. 

“Hannibal, I bow to your expertise here. Once I’m inside, what would you like me to do?”

Hannibal appeared to think for a moment, his eyes black and glittering in the moonlight. The sky was colorless, save for the smallest hint of navy tickling the tops of the treeline. Morning wouldn’t spring brightly for at least another two hours, yet it felt to Will that time was of utmost importance. 

“If you would not oppose, I feel that you will be best suited to approach the child, to bring her outside to safety. We do not have to time to draw this out, or to enjoy it in the capacity that I know you would prefer, and as I have more experience in killing quickly and without…”

“Yes, of course, Hannibal. I don’t oppose, at all. I’ll get the kid, just...just make sure he knows.”

What it was that Will wanted Hannibal to convey to Rossi didn’t need to be elaborated upon. Hannibal met Will’s eye, gave a slight nod, and swiftly kissed Will on his forehead before standing up and barreling towards the back door of the house. 

Subtlety was, obviously, not high on Hannibal’s list of priorities as he knocked in the wooden door with a single slam of his body’s left side. Will followed him inside closely, his breathing becoming shallow, more frantic. The house was small, only one story on a solid concrete foundation, visible from the outside. There would be no basement or attic to search; assuming Rossi hadn’t left without his car, he and the girl should be easy to find, Will hoped, as he and Hannibal made their way quickly through a dark, quiet kitchen. Hannibal was allowing himself to be guided by the electric blue light, shining dully down a short hallway riddled with a number of doors. 

Before Hannibal could reach the end of the hallway, the door in question burst open, revealing a perplexed Rossi, who promptly began screeching in Italian. Will found an instant to allow himself relief that Rossi was fully dressed, though inside, he knew that it didn’t mean that no harm had befallen the child. Will tried to judge the situation in a split second; instead of fear or shock, Rossi was emanating waves of pure rage, and for a solitary moment Will forgot his place, his only concern being Hannibal’s safety. 

Will shrugged away any concern that he felt after Hannibal quickly kneed Rossi in the gut, causing him to double over. Hannibal, in one fluid movement, wrapped his arm around Rossi’s throat and slid behind him before arching backwards, securing the man in a firm headlock. Will stepped forward in their direction, intending to slip past them and into Rossi’s room. Hannibal stopped him with a snap of his head.

“She’s not in there, Will.”

In order to find her, Will would have to let Hannibal out of his sight. He felt a tearing, internally, somewhere between his lungs and his heart. Logically, he knew, KNEW that Rossi was no match for Hannibal, that Hannibal had been in far more dangerous and compromising situations. Alas, something had changed. They had melded into one; it felt unnatural to Will as he turned away to open the first door on his left. Foreign, a splinter in his mind, through his heart.

The fear of losing Hannibal was greater than any fear that he had ever known, and yet, he opened the door and stepped inside.

Will fumbled to find the light switch on the wall, which activated a dim lamp near the door. The furnishings in the room could hardly be described as sparse. Directly in front of Will, a warped dresser was blocking the window in the room, atop it, a small television. To his left was a small closet without a door, holding a smattering of empty clothes hangers.

The girl was curled up so very small in the corner of a twin size mattress on the floor to Will’s right that he nearly missed her in his sweep of the room. Strong waves of terror spilled from her tiny frame, which was visibly shaking. Will did a once over to judge injury before speaking; when he noticed a large, hand sized bruise on her forearm, he felt a sprig of glee knowing that Hannibal was currently choking the life out of Rossi in the next room.

Will approached the mattress slowly, both of his arms spread out from his sides, palms facing forward. His instincts told him to snatch the child and run, but he knew better. Will recalled the feeling of curling up on the small bed in his prison cell; he knew how it felt to be cornered and betrayed. 

“Hey, there.” He crouched as he spoke softly, making himself small and less overbearing.

The girl didn’t respond, her head tucked behind her knees, held together with a hug around her legs.

“Ciao...bonjour?”

She looked up.

Amid the frenzy of her stringy blonde hair, Will observed a pale, tear streaked face, and big green eyes, wide with uncertainty. Sympathy, rage, and a need to protect uncoiled in Will’s belly, causing his mouth to go dry. 

“Tu parle français?”

The girl nodded, and Will felt relief. His French wasn’t perfect, but his Italian didn’t even qualify as knowledge of the language past surface pleasantries. 

“Comment tu t'appelle? Je m'appelle James.” Will felt guilty lying to the girl, but shrugged the feeling aside. She watched him, considering.

“Je m’appelle Lila.” Her voice was small and cracked, and was quickly swallowed up by a loud thud coming from down the hall. She jumped; Will swore.

“Bonjour, Lila. Je veux vous aider. I want to help you.”

Another crash, this one from the other side of the wall. Strangled gasps for air sliced through the air, followed by a grunt. Glass breaking.

This seemed to be enough, combined with Will’s soothing manner, to push the girl off of the bed and into Will’s arms. He startled a bit when impossibly small arms wrapped themselves around his neck. As gently as he could, Will embraced the child firmly, and stood.

As difficult as it was to separate himself from Hannibal without knowing how he was fairing, Will didn’t hesitate to walk directly from the room, down the hall, through the kitchen, and out the door. The excursion into the house had taken barely any time at all, and Will was grateful that the night was still there to protect them as he started walking in the direction of the car. 

They were silent, aside from Lila’s occasional sniffles into Will’s shoulder and the crunch of the ground beneath Will’s feet. Lila continued to shiver in Will’s arms, and due to adrenaline he supposed he hadn’t noticed the chill in the air. He stopped walking; Lila’s arms grew tighter around his neck. 

“Je vais...uhh...zip?...mon manteau? I’m going to zip up my jacket, Lila, okay?”

She nodded, her grasp firm around his neck, and wrapped her legs around his waist when he let go of her back. Will zipped up his jacket, concealing most of Lila’s body against his chest, hoping that the action would both warm and secure her. By the time they made it to the car, she had stopped shivering. Will stood outside of the car for a moment, debating, before opening the passenger’s side door and sliding inside, ensuring not to rustle Lila as he did so. He didn’t desire to scare her by crowding her to him, yet at the same time, he didn’t want to abandon her to the chill of the leather backseat. She didn’t appear to mind staying wrapped up with him, so Will shut the door of the car behind them. 

It remained silent and still for the first few minutes in the car, until Lila sneezed into Will’s neck. The small sound made Will’s chest clench with amusement, and he shifted his head to smile down at the child. She was looking at him as though he might yell at her; when she saw his smile, Will watched some of the fear dissipate from her eyes. 

“Nous allons attendre pour mon ami. My friend is on his way, and then we’ll get going.” Will was uncertain why he was trying to clarify his statements in English, but he found Lila to be receptive of his meaning.

“Aller où?” Her voice was steadier than it had been at the house, Will noted, and her shivering had ceased altogether. He was pleased.

“Where? Somewhere safe. Un endroit sur.”

She seemed content with his answer, and she snuggled closer into him. He wrapped his arms around her, and tentatively stroked her hair with his right hand. When she did not pull away, he continued to do so, as rhythmically and as soothing as he could muster. Moments later, exhaustion took her, and her head rolled forward, hitting his chin in sleep. He continued to pet her hair lightly.

They stayed like that for over an hour, huddled together, Lila sleeping, Will’s concern for both himself and Hannibal growing exponentially as the sky began to lighten. Will was almost ready to lay Lila down in the backseat and retreat back to the house himself when he noticed movement in the car’s side mirror. His sigh of relief was audible, causing Lila to stir. Hannibal was approaching the car with long strides, his shirt spattered in what could only be blood, a bag of some kind in his hand. Will’s heart swelled at the sight.

Before getting into the car, Hannibal stopped at the trunk. There was some rustling, and Will watched in the mirror as Hannibal disposed of the small bag, stripped off his shirt, and replaced it with a plain black sweater from the trunk of the car. Will was grateful when Hannibal closed the trunk quietly before opening the driver’s side door and slipping inside.

“An oversight of mine, Will, I apologize for not leaving the keys to you…”

Hannibal’s voice faltered when he turned to the passenger’s seat, realizing that the child was sleeping not only within Will’s arms, but inside the confines of his jacket. Her head was turned away from him, only revealing a tangle of blonde hair. Hannibal lifted his eyes to Will’s.

“I’m happy to see you,” Will stated. Before Hannibal could return the notion, the child stirred, first glancing up at Will before turning around to face Hannibal.

A curious sensation, Hannibal thought absently, as all of the air was punched from his lungs. Her green eyes flickered around Hannibal’s face, scrutinizing him without the judgement of most adults. Her round face and small nose caused what little was left of Hannibal’s breath to hitch in his throat; he felt frozen, he felt young, he felt transported. He couldn’t stop her name from ghosting out of his lips.

“Mischa…”

The air around them stilled. When Hannibal’s eyes met Will’s, they were glossy, and Will watched as Hannibal let the tears fall absently. They came quickly and consistently. Will’s heart seized; he had to close his eyes, overwhelmed by Hannibal’s emotions. Will reached across the center console of the car and grasped Hannibal’s hand in his own. Hannibal squeezed, all stoicism lost.

Will opened his eyes when Lila whipped her head back around to whisper into his ear.

“Ton ami?”

Will smiled at her, squeezing Hannibal’s hand harder. “Oui, this is my friend. Christopher.”

“Je m’appelle Lila,” the girl turned and spoke seriously in Hannibal’s direction. A hiccup of laughter escaped from his lungs, and he reached up to dry the tears from his own cheeks. Hannibal met Will’s eyes and there was something...new. There was a sadness and concurrent vibrancy that Will had never witnessed from his partner. There was a question, a yearning, a need. Will drew in a steady breath before nodding his permission; no words needed to be spoken.

“Lila est un joli nom , mais nous devons vous appeler quelque chose de différent . Nous allons penser à un nouveau nom , d'accord? Your new name will be just as pretty.”

Lila looked at Hannibal when he spoke, her expression confused, while intrigued. To avoid escalating her confusion, Will used his chin to bump her temple, drawing her gaze back to himself.

“Aimes tu les chiens?” Will asked her, widening his own eyes purposely, in excitement. “Do you like dogs?”

Lila smiled.


	19. The Past in the Present

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos bring me unadulterated joy and encouragement!
> 
> You guys continue to be the absolute best, and I CANNOT thank you enough.

“Hi, Molly.”

Jack was surprised to see her name appear on his cell phone, to say the least. At most, he felt stabbing suspicion in his gut. In the 7 months since Hannibal and Will had disappeared, Jack had called Molly once every few weeks, to both reassure and be reassured that there had been no news of Will’s whereabouts. This was the first time that she had reached out to him rather than the other way around.

“Hello, Jack. Before you ask me, no, I’m sorry. I haven’t heard from W...I haven’t heard anything about him. I’m sorry.” 

Jack was uncertain of which hurt worse; the fact that Molly couldn’t bring herself to say Will’s name, or the fact that she had apologized to him twice in one breath, as though it was his spouse who had disappeared into thin air with a serial killing, cannibalistic sonofabitch…

Jack drew in a breath, calming himself before he could get fully worked up. “I figured I would have heard from you if you had. What can I do for you, Molly? How’s Walter?”

There was an audible hesitation on the line. Jack’s stomach dropped to the ground. “Molly?”

“Walter is fine. And I’m fine. We’re both fine and the dogs are fine and I’ve met someone who I’m fairly certain isn’t going to go off chasing monsters any time soon, and so I want this to be the last time we speak Jack, and I hope that you don’t take it personally but I find that I want to walk away from it all because I need us to be fine and it feels like things can actually be fine now and…”

“Molly.” Jack interrupted her, raising his hand as though to stop a continued barrage of words from tumbling out of her mouth. He lowered his hand when he realize that the motion was wasted, chastised himself internally. He needed to sleep; he had been struggling to do so recently. 

Thankfully, she stopped talking. He was grateful.

“Look, I understand. The shit that he’s put you through, the shit that I’ve put you through-”

“No, Jack-”

“The SHIT that I HAVE put you through,” he continued sternly, “can’t be easy to live with. You deserve to be happy, and Walter sure as hell deserves it as well. I feel like an ass for having dragged this on as long as I have, you know that, and you know that I’m damn sorry. I can let you walk away from this, no problem, as long as you’ll make me one promise.”

Molly didn’t hesitate, and whens he spoke, she sounded weary and exhausted. “Of course I would let you know if something turned up, on my end.”

Jack leaned back in his office chair, tipping his chin back so that he could focus on the ceiling tiles. He found himself at a loss for words, which he took as a sign that there really wasn’t anything else that could be said.

“Take care of yourself, Molly. Tell Walter to get good grades, and pet the dogs for me, if you could.” His throat tightened. He ignored it, turning all of his attention to a chipped tile in the left corner of the room.

“I can do that. G’bye, Jack.”

Jack continued to stare at the ceiling tiles in silence, long after Molly got off the line.

*

He felt like he was grasping at air. Slipping, sliding, and falling, with nothing to hold on to. No handholds, no rope, no dents where he could place his feet. Slowly but so very surely, Jack’s support in his efforts to find Will and Hannibal dwindled, and he was certain that he was spiraling deeper and deeper into paranoia as the days wore on. 

It had taken him two days to determine that Molly’s severance of their weak and essentially meaningless bond was the last straw. If Will’s spouse no longer cared to waste her energy on finding him, why was Jack still losing sleep? Why was it that all he could see when he closed his eyes was the conglomeration of everything between Graham and Lecter that he had overlooked for years? 

The higher ups at the Bureau hadn’t given Jack the clearance that he needed in order to follow his instincts over to France. They claimed that he had no evidence or no facts to back up his “gut feeling” that Hannibal and Will had something to do with the disappearance of Audrey Stan. They had reassured him (a multitude of times, because apparently Jack couldn’t get it through his thick fucking skull) that her disappearance was being thoroughly investigated to the fullest extent of the law by the appropriate officials, and that if Graham and Lecter had anything to do with it, they wouldbediscoveredandprosecuted. Their words had eventually melted together into a maelstrom of meaningless syllables, and Jack had finally dropped it after over a month with no breaks in the case. 

Jack couldn’t blame them, not really. Not after the clusterfuck that had occurred with Will’s imprisonment, the events that had transpired in Florence years ago, and certainly not after it was a scheme approved by himself that had led to the escape of the most notorious serial killer of the decade. If Jack looked at his own history with Hannibal and Will from the eyes of his superiors, he wouldn’t have approved his continued work on the case, either. 

This line of thinking, along with his increased fatigue and decrease in general health, led Jack down to the science lab on that second day after Molly’s farewell. He had one more branch to sever before he could cut himself out of the case completely. He doubted that Price and Zeller would mind being told to rid the lab of evidence and ship it to the evidence locker once and for all. They had other cases to solve, more murderers to catch, and Jack had begrudgingly come to terms with the fact that he was wasting a few of his most precious resources by having them utilize their time on what had essentially become a cold case. 

Jack stepped in the room and opened his mouth to make his presence known, before swiftly clamping his jaws together. If he hadn’t, he surely would have made a startled noise at the scene in front of him, and he had to give off an air of stoic or angry professionalism at all times.

“Oh, Jack!”

He didn’t have time to process his own shock before Alana fell into his arms, wrapping her own around his midsection in an embrace that was impressive for a woman of her stature. When she pulled back to smile up at him, Jack took a moment to allow himself to feel warm. Warmth was a sensation that he hadn’t felt in months, and he savored it at much as possible in that moment. 

“Alana Bloom. Well, well, well. Not so much as a phone call in the last half a year, and then here you are. Smiling in my science lab, looking wonderful and...very, very pregnant!” The sound of his own voice was foreign. Jack realized it was because of the happiness in his inflection. 

Alana instinctively removed her arms from Jack and set her hands on top of her large belly. She glowed. “Indeed. Margot and I had been spoiling Morgan, so we decided after we moved to make him a little sister. He’s not particularly thrilled, but we are.”

Jack felt his lips twitch into the beginnings of a smile. He was surprised that his muscles remembered how to create that particular expression. Alana seemed to notice that his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. Perceptive as always. After quickly hugging Price and Zeller, Alana looped her arm through Jack’s and began to lead them out of the lab.

“Let’s talk, you and I.” she said, her voice gentle, as it was before Hannibal had gotten his hands on her. “I’m sure we have some catching up to do.”

Alana had been a natural at her job as a psychiatrist, and Jack felt a fleeting pang of regret and guilt that he had played a hand in her abandoning her professional career in Baltimore as he spilled himself to her in a vocal slew of confusion, anger, and frustration.

“Am I crazy, Alana? Crazy to think that they’re still alive out there, that they had something to do with her disappearance?”

Ever a source of staunch calm in the face of distress, Alana didn’t answer him right away. He imagined that the onslaught of information and emotion that she had just sat through might take some time for her to sort through. When she spoke, she didn’t provide a direct answer to Jack’s question. In fact, she took them in a completely different direction. 

“I loved him, you know.”

“...Oh. I wouldn’t blame yourself for that, Dr. Bloom. He was quite the manipulative…”

“Not Hannibal, Jack. Will. I was in love with Will.”

Her statement hung heavy in the air between them, due solely to Jack’s surprise. Alana appeared shameless and nearly bored in her admission. 

“I’m certain that there was a moment where Will thought he felt the same, for me. Obviously, he was in no state to follow through, and I was in no position to act, either. We were..what is the literary expression? Star crossed lovers? And Hannibal, well. Hannibal was the cross.”

Jack remained silent, encouraging her to continue with a slight nod of his head.

She sipped from a styrofoam cup of water that Jack had given her when they had entered into his office before resuming. “Will thought he harbored feelings of love and affection for me, but it was merely deflection.” She waved her hand nonchalantly, dismissing Will’s affections as though they lay in front of her. “Will was drawn to Hannibal from the moment they met, and I dare say that Hannibal experienced the same...pull. Funny, isn’t it? It’s funny when I think back on it. Will and I could have been something for each other, without the existence of Hannibal Lecter. But that doesn’t negate the fact that he exists now, and he existed then. And he drew both of us to him, like we were proverbial moths.” She paused again, took another sip of water.

Jack shifted in his chair, leaning forward on his desk. “Do you regret-”

“I regret nothing,” she said curtly, cutting him off, “nothing. I have a life that I love and am surrounded by my little family who provide me healthy love and comfort. I wouldn’t trade anything for them.” Jack noted the fierceness in her eyes that flashed, only for a moment, when she made mention of her family. 

“The only thing, and I mean the only thing, that I can find it within myself to regret, is that I didn’t do more to protect Will from Hannibal. But that’s on all of us.”

A beat of silence. Acknowledgement and shame.

“But that’s neither here nor there, and is in fact beside the point. I’ve gone off track. Back to the metaphor, the moths drawn to the deadly light. I was drawn to it, Will was drawn to it even further, but you’re forgetting that there was somebody else who was pulled in as well.” 

With that, Alana slid a small piece of paper across the desk, towards Jack. When he unfolded it, he was greeted with a phone number. No other information, the lack of so much as a name glaring at him. 

Not that he necessarily needed Alana’s confirmation. They separated moments later, the moment having passed. Their goodbye was lite in nature, and Jack found that he rather enjoyed the sweet ache that Alana’s departure left in his chest. The ache meant that there still existed in the world people that stirred something other than putrefaction within Jack’s heart. 

It wasn’t thirty seconds after Jack was left alone that he picked up his phone. The scent of Alana’s perfume still lingered in the air, and he felt not dissimilar to a cheating spouse, following up on her lead so immediately, with her presence still heavy in the room. 

His suspicion about the owner of the telephone number was instantly confirmed, the sensation of recognition washing over him with the two-syllable greeting.

“Greetings, Dr. Du Maurier.”

Their conversation was brief, yet the value of their discussion was nothing if not significant. Bedelia’s contribution to Jack’s suspicions were strong enough to guide him, unbeknownst to the FBI, onto the first flight to France the following morning.


	20. Briar Rose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this large dose of fluff before the next two chapters, which are absolutely not fluffy and are, in fact, a bit panic inducing, though I have yet to write them. Consider this a reprieve from things to come!
> 
> Thank you for the beautiful and encouraging comments and kudos, and thank you to those who are sticking through with me until the end on this! It's sadly approaching pretty quickly; 3 more chapters and an epilogue to wrap it up. I apologize for the two week gap between chapters; I've been trying to update weekly or more, but work/family/life happens, you know?

It had taken less than two weeks for Lila to capture Will’s already full heart. 

He had been surprised at the ease in which she seemed to trust both men, almost instantly. The morning after they had sprung her from Rossi’s capture, she allowed Hannibal to perform a basic medical check-up after calmly letting Will help her take a bath. Will had been careful to ask her if every action was okay, from lifting her impossibly small shirt over her head, to washing her hair with their masculine-smelling shampoo. He hadn’t made a single move to remove her shorts, and neither had she. This had both relieved Will and increased his worry that they had rescued her too late. 

Will hadn’t wanted to be a part of Hannibal’s medical exam, though he knew that Hannibal would be just as careful with her, if not more so. He had felt intense relief when Hannibal and Lila had joined him on the back porch afterwards, hand-in-hand. Will didn’t detect an ounce of fear or pain from either of them, and he found himself able to breathe again. 

“It appears as though she has not been...violated.” Hannibal chose his words carefully, ensuring that Lila was half-way across the yard tending to Watson before speaking. “Of course, I didn’t feel it appropriate to conduct a full physical examination, but she answered my questions satisfactorily. She claims that the man only ever touched her over her clothing and said that her ‘privates’ have never been hurt before.”

Will squeezed his eyes closed without thinking, trying to make sense of the simultaneous joy and rage that coursed through his body. Joy at the fact that Lila appeared to have been spared the worst of Rossi’s intentions; rage at the thought of his hands on her in any capacity. Will knew in that moment that if Hannibal hadn’t already killed Rossi, Will would have been unstoppable in doing so himself. 

Hannibal brought Will back into the moment by putting a hand on his shoulder, squeezing, and continuing with his health assessment. 

“Otherwise, she’s a little dehydrated and underweight, and she has some old and new bruises and contusions. It would appear that the children’s home where she was being kept was barely better than where she wound up.”

Hannibal had removed his hand from Will’s shoulder then, opting to sit cross-legged on the porch beside Will’s chair instead of standing. Will’s hand automatically went to Hannibal’s hair, petting in slow, smooth motions. 

“What are we going to do, Hannibal?”

It was the question that both of them had been asking themselves instead of asking each other. Will’s question was met with many long moments of silence as they watched Lila tumbling with Watson, the smallest of Will’s t-shirts dangling from her small shoulders and loose on her body, despite the knot that Hannibal had tied in the back in an effort to keep her from tripping. She laughed then, and they tensed. 

Hannibal and Will both started speaking in the same moment. 

“If we take her to the police or fire station, she’ll just wind up back where she was…”

“She’s technically a witness to Rossi’s murder, it will likely take her awhile to forget about it completely…”

“...not to mention, she seems to feel safe here.”

“...and she could probably use some therapy, which would be conveniently available as I am qualified to work with children.”

Their pauses occurred in tandem as well. Will shot a hesitant glance towards Hannibal, who met it with one of his own. 

“We’ll have to change her appearance, Will. And her name…”

“Can’t Seamus be of help, here?”

“Yes. I’ll call him this afternoon. We’ll need a birth record, adoption papers, probably a passport as well.”

Silence again, though now it hung with an electric charge. Lila laid at the edge of the yard, using Watson as a pillow, blissfully unaware that her future was being decided by two strangers. 

“How risky is this Hannibal, realistically?” Will’s voice was a low whisper, heavy with too many emotions at once, fear and concern being the most evident. Hannibal considered his question.

“We’ve been lucky so far, haven’t we, Will?”

Will’s draw dropped in what looked like surprise. His eyes widened, and Hannibal found himself appreciating the effect that his statement had. He expected Will to argue the sentiment of luck, to point out that Hannibal believed himself to be in control of his own destiny. 

Resolutely, Will did neither of these things; rather, he turned the proverbial table on Hannibal, his next statement sending a chill down the doctor’s spine.

“I don’t want to stop killing.”

It was a concrete, matter-of-fact statement, and Hannibal had marveled in the confidence and sincerity of it. 

“Not to be rude, but need I remind you that I exuded you and other law enforcement agencies for years? I think we can find a way to keep our extracurricular activities hidden from a child. A space beneath the shed, perhaps? A fortified room in the basement? We’ll find our way, darling, as we have been. I have no plans to let you put your monster to sleep just now.”

Will resumed petting Hannibal’s hair. He couldn’t quite pinpoint the moment when he had ceased doing so.

“She’ll never know? You can promise me that?”

“I’ll make sure of it.”

*

Lila had reacted to the news that they had decided to “adopt” her with interest and an astounding array of questions, asked in an intriguing mixture of French and English words. Her quickly-developing mind expanded rapidly on a daily basis, and Will couldn’t hide his astonishment at her ability to pick up English, simply by following himself or Hannibal around during the day. He found himself tutoring her constantly during the days when he was at home instead of at the shelter; he knew Hannibal was working with her similarly, as it was evident when she showered him with new English words when he returned home at the end of the day. 

Hannibal had taken to seeing clients on Will’s off-days during the week in the two weeks since Lila had come to be with them. They had agreed to getting their one-on-one time in with Lila while the other worked, just as they decided to spent every evening and every Sunday as a trio. Lila had taken to both of them in different ways, much to their amusement. She followed Hannibal around the house to help him tidy and cook (ironically enough, the only animal that Lila would eat was chicken. Will had been grateful, as he was conflicted about feeding human meat to an unknowing and unwilling participant, as he had past experience with being that very participant. Hannibal had not reacted to Lila’s refusal of non-poultry meat, however, Will could feel the other man’s twinge of muted disappointment). Will often found the two of them curled up in Hannibal’s study, Hannibal in Hannibal’s chair and Lila in Lila’s chair, as she had taken to calling them, reading their own books. Lila was quiet with Hannibal, always curious and speculative, knowing just how Hannibal would work to guide her towards learning something new. When Will was privy to those quietly shared moments, he was barely able to contain the overwhelming contentment that ached within his chest.

With Will, on the other hand, Lila was LOUD. She loved to be chased and tickled, and she wore out her vocal chords giggling in glee when she was chased by both Will and Watson in the back yard. She enjoyed getting dirt under her fingernails with Will, whether she be helping him pull weeds in the yard or assisting in painting another part of the house. She was silly during their alone time, asking how to say words she found funny, either in French or English. She spent three days belting out the words “mashed potatoes” in a sing-songy voice when she first learned the term, and for those three days, Will heard Hannibal’s laughter more often than he ever thought possible. 

When Lila spent her evenings and Sundays with both Hannibal and Will, her different personalities converged into a whole, and she was a mild-mannered leech for learning; sweet, but not overly affectionate, energetic, but not overly rowdy. Will found himself thinking, one evening at dinner, that she was the balance of the two of them, in one tiny frame. It was as if they had created her themselves. He would never speak the sentiment out loud, as it was mushy and frankly ridiculous. 

He may have felt differently about his line of thinking had he known that the same thought had crossed Hannibal’s mind as well, and often.

*

“Her papers came today, Will. Would you like to see them?”

Will had just arrived home from the shelter on a Saturday afternoon, precisely two weeks ‘post-Lila,’ as he had taken to referring to this most recent time frame. Hannibal met Will at the door, a thick manila envelope in his hand that was covered in stamps. If Will didn’t know any better, he would have accused Hannibal of being eager. 

He did it regardless. 

“Someone’s excited. Hi.” Will finished kicking his shoes off and leaned upward, planting a soft kiss on Hannibal’s mouth. He felt his lover’s lips quirk up slightly in the corners.

“Excited seems adequate. We’ll be able to leave the house with her, now. I’m sure she’ll appreciate exploring the world, don’t you think?”

Will nodded and held out his hand. Hannibal obliged to his silent request, handing over the envelope tenderly, as though it held his most valuable possession. Will flicked through the documents, eyeballing every item, until he came to the bottom of the stack. He gingerly opened the passport there and smiled at the photograph of Lila that Hannibal had sent to Seamus for this exact purpose. It was mere hours after Hannibal had expertly cut her hair into a short pixie cut, prior to using a boxed dye to change her white-blonde hair into a dark chestnut brown. Will had watched the entire process of Hannibal changing Lila, and the new color of her hair had caused him to be swept along in a moment of overpowering memories of Abigail. The only thing that had snapped him out of the moment had been Hannibal’s laughter, as he corrected Lila’s assessment of her hair as now being “small,” informing her that the correct word was “short.” 

Will thought the photograph was adorable and the overall documents appeared to be very believable. He doubted that anybody would ever feel the need to check any of them twice. 

“Have you shown her yet? I’m sure she’ll be thrilled for us to start getting used to her new name.”

If Hannibal had ever rolled his eyes, it was at that moment. It was also the moment when Lila waltzed into the room, breathless and red faced from playing fetch with Watson outside in the gated backyard.

“My new name?” She eyed the passport in Will’s hand. He knelt down and turned it towards her, showing her the photo and pointing to her name next to it. Her eyes grew wide and she grinned. “My new name now!” She threw her arms around Will’s neck and he grasped her tightly. When he stood up with her, she almost immediately held her arms out towards Hannibal, who took her into his own hold with ease.

“We fish demain?” 

Hannibal met Will’s eyes in question. Will nodded exuberantly and answered the question himself. 

“Oui, nous irons pêcher demain. We can go fishing tomorrow. But first, what do you say we all go and get you your very own fishing pole?”

Her eyes widened, causing Will’s breath to hitch. Her happiness was almost overwhelming as she nodded, fast and hard. His heart tightened.

“And you can get whatever color pole you would like, Aurora.”

She squealed excitedly, her face glowing with a healthy pink hue that hadn’t been there a few weeks prior. 

Hannibal kissed the top of her head before setting her down, and she promptly ran towards the front door to put her shoes on. 

An hour later, Aurora passed out in the back seat of the car with a small pink pole splayed out on the seat next to her, Hannibal covered Will’s hand with his own as he drove them back in the direction of home. Hannibal squeezed Will’s hand before shooting him a small smile. 

“She named herself well. Our little Sleeping Beauty, indeed.”

*

They went fishing the following day, as promised. Aurora watched her bright orange bobber intently as it floated on the surface of the water, content with simply running her hands over the grass beside where she sat. Hannibal and Will were not far off from the small pond themselves as they watched her, readying themselves for action in case the bobber was pulled under. Hannibal sat leaning against a tree, with Will using Hannibal’s thigh much as he would one of their pillows at home. They were silent, the two of them.

They both watched her closely.

They both thought of Abigail; Hannibal, also of Mischa. 

When the mixture of their powerful emotions became too much, Will cleared his throat, breaking their companionable silence.

“Hannibal?”

“Yes, Will?”

“I love you. And I love her, I...I don’t know how I got here, but I’m grateful for it, and I just...I love you both.”

“Yes, Will.”


	21. The Window

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really hope you guys enjoy this chapter. It was a monster for me, for some reason. 
> 
> Thank you all so much for the kind comments and the kudos, but mostly, thank you for reading and sharing! I appreciate every one of you, and as the story is coming to a close very soon, I find that I not only miss my Murder Family, but I miss all of you already, too.

Jack’s French was shit. 

He was managing to make his way around the city on a mediocre level, mainly due to his ability to latch on to words that were similar to the Italian words that he knew by heart. He was grateful for the time that he and Bella had spent in Italy, though it pained him to his bones to be reminded. 

Luckily, Jack didn’t need to understand any language to comprehend the list of names in front of him. The box office manager of the opera house where Audrey Stan had disappeared had been practically fluent in English, much to Jack’s relief, no doubt due to the venue being a highly sought out tourist attraction. The man had barely put up a fight over giving up the guest list from that particular evening, once Jack had flashed his FBI badge.

He was in Paris, conducting Bureau business, without orders or even permission. If they found out, he would certainly lose his job, and possibly his freedom, as he was using his position of power to access what would be considered private citizen information. Staring down at the list of names as he sat at the plastic desk in his minuscule hotel room, Jack couldn’t quite bring himself to care; however, he couldn’t help but wonder if Bella would be ashamed of him. 

He pushed the thought aside, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. 

The list of patrons who had purchased tickets to the opera using a credit card was less than a comprehensive sample of the overall actual guest list. The Palais Garnier boasted a capacity of nearly 2,000 seats. The opera had not been completely sold out that night; 1,400 tickets had been sold, many of them from the box office itself instead of from the internet, many of them purchased with cash. 800 tickets had been purchased using a credit card, and most of the purchases had been for multiple tickets, no doubt for couples, families, or other groups. When it was said and done, Jack was left with a list of 267 names. Less than 20% of the guests who had attended the opera on the night of Audrey’s disappearance. 

Alas, it was all he fucking had to go on.

Not having access to the Bureau’s database on this particular endeavor, Jack was confronted with the barrier of having to search out information about the ticket holders using bare bones and bare technology-based detective techniques. With the list, his laptop, and a somewhat questionable internet connection, Jack set to his task. The nostalgic feeling that settled around him was nearly comforting as he was reminded of when he had first worked on the Baltimore PD homicide beat, decades earlier. 

Back when he had had Bella and hadn’t harbored tender feelings towards not one, but more likely two, cannibalistic psychopaths. When life had been bright, and open, and simple; identify and catch the bad guys. Recognize the murders and condemn them for their actions. A time before he had been blinded, overrun with impossible responsibility. 

Four hours and one half-eater order from room service later, Jack stared down at the results of his efforts.

He had 112 phone numbers and 85 addresses. The numbers were disappointing to say the least, but Jack clung to the hope that maybe, just maybe, if he followed these 112 leads and came up empty handed, he could return home and lay this obsession to rest. Maybe he could bury his ever-present feelings of betrayal, anger, and smoldering guilt. Maybe he could get on with the life that he had left. 

He knew the chances of that happening were impossibly small, but it was worth a shot.

The natural light spilling from the windows in his hotel room had grown dim with the time, and Jack knew that nobody would appreciate the sight of an American law enforcement agent showing up on their doorstep at this hour. Deciding that he would fill up his rental car and start his investigation in the morning, Jack threw back three sleeping pills with a mouthful of cheap whiskey in the hopes that the combination would expedite his fall into unconsciousness. 

He slept, and he dreamed of icy rain water and meat, skewered over a smoldering flame.

*

“Bonjour Madame . Avez-vous vu l'un de ces hommes?” Jack held up a photograph featuring Hannibal and Will’s mugshots, side by side. The elderly woman squinted at the photograph. Jack watched her eyes flick back and forth between the split page; from Hannibal’s face, to Will’s and back again. 

“Non. Sorry, sir, mais non.”

Jack used his broken French to explain that she would have possibly come into contact with them at the opera that she had attended the month prior. Though she appeared to comprehend Jack, her answer remained the same nonetheless. 

When Jack made it back to his rental car, parked at the end of the woman’s driveway, he let the disappointment of the day wash over him for the first time. He unleashed his fury on the steering wheel, beating his clenched fists against the rubber until his hands felt numb. He recognized, distantly, that he had been nonsensically screeching, but found himself too drained and pissed off to care. At least, until he noticed the old woman peering at him through her curtains, a look of concern evident on her face. Bringing himself back down into sanity, Jack found it in him to offer her a small wave before backing out onto the main road. 

The old woman had been number 34 on Jack’s list, which he had ranked in order of proximity to the city. The previous 33 encounters had mostly gone in a similar fashion, with two or three residents having had angry outbursts at having Jack taking up space on their doorstep. Overall, the day had not been successful, but Jack was less than halfway through his address list, and he used this fact to rationalize. His flame of hope was small, but had not yet flickered out. 

At that point, Jack had to reluctantly admit to himself that he required the GPS on his cell to reach his next destination. He had intentionally kept his cell phone off ever since stepping onto the plane to France, not wanting to deal with the myriad of phone calls that he would likely be subjected to by his employees when they learned that he had cashed in the rest of his personal days at the drop of a hat, with no indication as to where he was headed. However, his paper map of Paris didn’t cover the territory where he was heading, into the city suburbs. He had a brief but real stab of fear as he powered on his phone; he knew he could be easily tracked by the higher-ups at the Bureau through his cell signature, but he held on to the hope that they hadn’t yet caught wind of his solo mission. 

Sure enough, his phone informed him that he had eight voicemails; three from Price, two from Zeller, two from his supervisor, and one from an unfamiliar number. It took him a moment to recognize that the number belonged to Bedelia. He hesitated for a short moment before closing out of his voicemail without listening to a single one; he didn’t want to allow himself to be dissuaded from his mission. Besides, Jack’s next (and likely final) stop for the day was a business, the closing time quickly approaching. Jack pulled up his maps app, punched in the address, and began the twenty minute trek. 

All of the information that he had found online had led to residential addresses, with the exception of this particular woman. When he had ran the search on her name, the results had been inundated with information related to her business. Jack had figured that it was worth a shot, uncomfortable with leaving any stone unturned. 

The business was difficult to find as it was the only establishment on the road, and surrounded by trees. Jack nearly missed the driveway, and the sharp angle at which he had pulled the wheel caused the rental car to kick up stones from the road. The shop appeared to be dead, and the sight of only two cars parked in front of the sprawling warehouse made Jack feel uncomfortable for a reason that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

He was hit with the smell of an amalgamation of different types of wood when he stepped into the building. It took him a moment to find the checkout counter, which was being manned by a single, older gentleman on the telephone, having what sounded like a heated discussion that Jack couldn’t make out, language barrier and all. Jack decided to wait patiently, setting the photo of Hannibal and Will on the counter before turning around to observe the different types of furniture that surrounded him.

“Qu’est-ce que vous voulez avec les homosexuels?” 

The sound of the man’s voice directed towards Jack startled him. He turned back to the counter and asked the man to repeat himself, with the best French that he could muster.

“Ah, American? The gays. What would you want with them?” The clerk pointed towards the photo on the counter top.

Jack’s blood ran cold, suddenly an icy sludge in his veins. 

“You’ve seen these men?” Jack swallowed before continuing. His mouth was dry. “Together?”

The man grunted before nodding. “My wife,” he said, “she knows. Marie! MARIE!”

Jack jumped when the man yelled, presumably for his wife. Not a heartbeat passed before a middle-aged woman appeared briskly from behind an oak wardrobe. 

“Oui?” She approached Jack steadily. “Je suis Marie Roux?” She posed the statement as a questions of sorts, obviously confused.

Jack plowed through her confusion without hesitance. “Madame Roux, these men,” he stated, holding up the mugshots, “you know them?”

Her eyes barely skimmed the faces on the page before her face showed a spark of recognition. Jack could hear his blood rushing, being squeezed hastily through his body.

He had them. HE HAD THEM.

“Oui. C’est Monsieur et Monsieur Harris. Customers. Sont-ils en difficulté?”

Jack looked over to Mr. Roux helplessly. 

“Trouble. Are they in trouble, she is asking.”

Jack turned his head back to Marie before nodding slowly. 

“These men? Criminals. Murders. Dangerous.”

No translation was needed. Her eyes widened into horrified orbs, her hand going to her mouth seemingly without thought. A grunt from behind Jack indicated that Mr. Roux was listening to the conversation with a new level of interest. Jack turned.

“Stay,” the old man said, without further explanation. He came from behind the counter and took his wife by the elbow. Jack watched him steer her towards a door marked as the office, and suddenly, he was left alone.

He took a moment to appreciate the cold sensation of vindication that was nearly overwhelming him. He had known. His gut had told him that they were here, that they were involved in Mrs. Stan’s disappearance. Of course, Bedelia had all but confirmed his suspicions during their prompt phone discussion, but this...this was proof. These were witnesses. Witnesses with names for the monsters. And he had found them. 

Jack didn’t have a plethora of time at his disposal to bask in his victory, as Mr. Roux exited the office a moment later, grasping a yellow piece of paper. He thrust it into Jack’s hands with blunt force.

“Gays bought a bed. We took it to their home. The address is marked. My wife is scared, so you can go now.” Just as abruptly as he had appeared, he turned back and disappeared behind the office door once more, leaving Jack gaping after him. When he came to his senses, he looked down at the paper in his hands. Sure enough, there was an address circled in black marker in the middle of the page, an invoice for one Mr. Christopher Harris.

Adrenaline spiked violently within Jack, and when he peeled out of the parking lot toward his destination, the stones went flying. 

*

Jack parked his rental on the side of the road, roughly the distance of a city street down the way from what he had christened in his mind as the Harris House. 

It was past dusk, but not quite full navy night, though the world felt bright to him as he crouched low, using brush and trees to hide his form, just in case someone happened to be outside. He didn’t realize that he was holding his breath until he let it burst from his lungs when the side of the house finally came into sight.

Nobody appeared to be outside, at least not where Jack could see or hear them. He stood silently behind a tree, listening and leaning slightly to observe the property of the home. He noted the sleek car in the driveway, a large open backyard with a mid-height fence, over which he could see the roof of a small structure, likely a barn or a shed. The house was two storied and old, but charming, and looked freshly painted. Jack could imagine Will living here, with a couple of dogs, being content with fixing the house, mowing the lawn, and murdering people in the shed.

Jack swallowed the burn of bile in his throat, bent low, and made his way silently towards the house itself. 

There was a large window on the side of the house facing Jack, mostly covered by curtains, with the exception of a small sliver of light spilling from a triangle of uncovered glass near the bottom. Jack crept, so quietly, his heart hammering in his chest. He wanted one look. He wanted one look before he made his way to the front door with his weapon. He wanted one look to make sure that he was correct.

He would only let himself look for as long as was needed. He promised himself this. 

Jack inched himself taller onto his tiptoes, and peered into the house. 

He expected to feel painful shock at the sight of them, or horror. He expected to feel something when he finally laid eyes on the man who had ruined his life, and the man whose life Jack had helped ruin, himself. Instead, he felt nothing if not the absence of emotion when he saw them, sitting not ten feet away from the window at a lavish dining room table. They sat across from one another, their side profiles facing Jack. He let his eyes flicker from Will to Hannibal and back, felt the satisfaction that he needed to stand down and make his next move, and then…

...Jack froze. Despite his best efforts, despite the promise that he had made to himself, he froze. And he stared. 

It was then, at the sight of a small child sitting straight ahead of him, at the head of the table, that Jack felt the fear he had been expecting.

*

Will noticed first that Aurora had stopped eating her dinner, her eyes screwed intently forward, staring at the window on the other side of the table. 

Will flicked his eyes to see what was so captivating to his little girl, and quickly flicked them to Hannibal instead. 

He couldn’t speak.

The saliva in his mouth had dried in less than an instant, and the cold tendrils of shock wrapped themselves around his body, holding him stone still in his place.

He stared at Hannibal until Hannibal noticed.

As any good Father, Hannibal’s immediate attention went to Aurora the instant that he noticed a look of petrified terror on his partner’s face. Aurora didn’t look terrified; instead, she was staring at the window, looking quite intrigued. Assured that her safety wasn’t at risk, Hannibal turned his attention back to Will. 

“William, you look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”

Will didn’t react, and his frozen features created a deep sense of unease in Hannibal’s chest. He was prepared to ask Will what was wrong, but was cut off by Aurora.

“There is! There is a ghost in the window, Papa!”

Aurora’s voice acted as a physical slap to Will, who moved quickly to stand up and snatch Aurora from her chair in the same instant that Hannibal stood with such a force that his own chair clattered to the ground. In a split second, Will had scooped Aurora up into his arms and had started to retreat further into the house, as Hannibal simultaneously whipped back the dining room curtain. 

There, like a deer in headlights, stood Jack Crawford. 

To the man’s credit, Hannibal thought to himself, Jack didn’t even flinch at the sudden movement of the curtain, or the sudden presence of Hannibal towering over him. 

Hannibal couldn’t help the smile that quirked at the corner of his mouth. 

“A ghost, indeed,” he whispered.


	22. Overflow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for being late with this update, but I was most definitely procrastinating. I didn't know this chapter would hurt as much as it did. 
> 
> One more chapter and an epilogue to go. As always, my gratitude for each and every one of you who have stuck with me since the beginning of this story is eternal and runs deep.
> 
> Please heed the updated Archive Warning (or not, to avoid any possible spoilers).
> 
> I'm so sorry.

“Come out, come out, wherever you are, Jack!”

Jack held his breath, willing himself to be as still and silent as possible. From his vantage point, pressed firmly against the back of one of the thicker trees along the fringes of the surrounding woods, he could see Hannibal, standing where he had stood not twenty seconds before at the side window. He knew that Hannibal was a keen hunter, knew that he had barely any time before Hannibal would make a beeline towards the woods, the most obvious hiding spot.

Jack wasn’t stupid, he just hadn’t had any damn time…

The kid. There had been a kid at their table. Not only were they sitting there, together, seemingly content and well adjusted and in perfect fucking health, but they had a child between them and...and…

The sound of Jack dry heaving was all it took for Hannibal to sprint towards him, full force. Jack had a moment to curse himself for his idiocy, for his inability to keep his physical disgust under control. He had another to draw his weapon and spin himself around to the opposite side of the tree, facing an impossibly fast moving Hannibal Lecter. 

Life had moved in slow motion before, for Jack. He remembered how unapologetically slow time had moved when he had been bleeding out in Hannibal’s pantry, years prior. Every second of surviving until he had blacked out had lasted an entire eternity. The way that he was experiencing time in that moment, his gun pointed towards Hannibal as he lunged confidently towards him, was very similar. The feeling of deja vu washed over him as he took in every detail of Hannibal’s face; the stoic settle of his facial muscles, his tightly drawn lips, the glint of surprise in his murderous eyes when he registered the fact that Jack had a gun.

Was it surprise, Jack wondered to himself, or was it fear? He didn’t dwell on the matter. He chose, instead, to aim, and shoot. 

Hannibal crumpled. The night was silent.

*

“It’s okay, honey, it’s okay. Be brave, alright? Can you do that for me? I need you to...”

Aurora’s entire body went shockingly rigid in Will’s arms as the sound of gunfire exploded in the air, interrupting his hurried whispers. The rest of his sentence burned in his throat, where it had settled unspoken. He swallowed his feelings of panic as they listened from the corner of Hannibal’s office, where they were huddled behind a bookcase that had yet to be filled.

Will told himself that Hannibal was okay. Promised himself that. Assured himself that if Jack had killed Hannibal, he would have known. That he would have felt it inside his own body, that his own force of life would have drained from every orifice. Nearly delirious, Will thought to himself that if Hannibal had been killed, he would have felt his own monster weep.

For a long moment, perhaps the longest in Will’s life, nothing happened. The silence blanketed himself and Aurora, the only sounds being the beating of his own heart and barely existent sniffles from the child in his arms. The moment stretched thickly.

Will heard a floorboard creak. Adrenaline took over.

He stood as quietly as possible before lowering Aurora onto the floor. She tried to cling to his shirt cuffs, terror in her voice as she pleaded with him not to leave her.

“It’s just for a minute. It’s a game, like hide and seek, remember? Remember Papa taught you how to hide and be quiet and invisible when you played hide and seek last week? Well, now it’s time to play for real, okay?” 

Her sad and obviously terrified nod nearly overpowered Will. For a tiny girl, her feelings were bigger than life, and they were throwing off his balance. He reminded himself of his responsibilities in that moment; protect her safety. Find Hannibal. Find Jack…

...and then what? Kill him?

Will’s stomach roiled at the thought. He pushed it aside quickly as he guided Aurora into a fetal position as she laid on the bottom shelf of the empty bookcase. Will used his shoulder to push the bookcase around, swiveling it until the front was facing the wall opposite the interior door of Hannibal’s office. 

“Stay, now. Don’t come out, unless I say so, or your Papa. Yes?”

Her affirmative reply was so muted that Will may have imagined it. 

He turned on his heels, squeezing his eyes for a moment, mapping out the house’s floor plan in his head. The shot had come from outside, the East side of the house. If he could make his way to the backyard, he could use the fence to help shield him from Jack, if that was still necessary. Deciding that it was the best plan that was going to come to him in the moment, Will opened his eyes with the intention of leaving the room, to make his way to the back door. 

A plan that he would be unable to put into play, as not a split second after he opened his eyes, the office door burst open.

Will saw the gun before he saw Jack’s face. Ever an agent, Jack led with his weapon when on mission, and this was no exception. Will stilled in the middle of the room. Knew then that Hannibal had been on the receiving end of the earlier gunshot.

Hot rage and icy fear danced in Will’s belly as it dawned on him that Hannibal’s empty book shelf may never be filled.

*

“Where’s Hannibal, Jack?”

Jack could barely hear Will’s inquiry over the hot pounding of blood in his ears. No matter how much he had talked himself up, regardless of his cocky arrogance and blatant disregard of probability, the realization dawned on Jack that he hadn’t actually expected to ever again be in a room with Will Graham. Now that Will was on the other end of his barrel, only feet away, he found that he didn’t know where to go from there.

“Why do you ask, Will? Afraid I killed your boyfriend? Your slimy, serial killing, cannibal of a boyfriend?” Jack’s voice crescendoed into a yell. It felt good.

Will didn’t even flinch. “Where. Is. He.”

If the malice in Will’s voice had been released in the form of a physical attack, Jack thought that it may have been strong and violent enough to end him, right then and there.

“He’s outside. Bleeding on the ground. Do you remember what that feels like, Will? Do you ever wake up at night covered in sweat, thinking about when he gutted you and left you to bleed? Or have you forgotten that part? You must have. Will, you have to tell me something, anything, to explain to me what in God’s green FUCK you’re doing here, with HIM. Are you here against your wishes? Is it, what is it, Stockholm Syndrome? If that’s the case, Will, I can help…” Jack swallowed the cracking emotion that was bubbling up from his throat. “I can get you out of here.”

Will laughed, and Jack’s stomach plunged to the floor.

“I find your offer quite ironic, Jack. You, standing in front of me after all these years of pushing me into blood and shit and tears, pushing me into pools of viscera that followed me home and lived behind my eyelids, and now, NOW you’re offering to pull me out of it? To take me home, tuck me away and keep me safe? Where was your concern before, Jack? You knew. You fucking knew that I loved him, and don’t tell me that you didn’t. I told you in every way that I knew how. I told you I wanted to run away with him, and what happened? 3 years later, you let that happen. I suggested we let him out, and you gave me the green light. Jack,” Will stepped forward, inching his way closer to the barrel of the gun, “you pushed me towards him. You told him to get inside my head, and guess what? He did. He got inside my head and he fed me the fucked up truths of the world. He saw me, recognized me, freed me. You asked to borrow my imagination, and stole it instead. Hannibal? He gave it back.”

Jack’s insides became more and more twisted as Will continued. 

“You don’t get to take this from me, Jack. You don’t made decisions for weak, broken Will Graham anymore, because he doesn’t exist. He’s gone, and I took his place.” Will faltered for a moment, and shifted his stare from Jack’s gun to Jack’s eyes. There was an uncomfortable pull in Jack’s stomach, and he felt exposed, vulnerable in a way that he had never known.

“You have a life, Jack. I know Bella’s gone, and I’m sorry, but you’ve always had a life. Friends, family, work, home. Why couldn’t you have just...kept it? Because this has to end, one way or another, we both know that. Whether it’s with Hannibal and I going to prison or eating your bullets, or you not walking out of this house, this is going to end. And it’s your own fault. Jack, will you feel better?” Will took another step forward. Jack stepped back, keeping the gun out of Will’s reach.

“Will you feel better once we’re dead or captured? Once you’ve taken everything away from me? Before you pulled me out of my own life, I had some of those things. I had a few friends. A job. My students. My dogs. Then you happened, and I lost everything, EVERYTHING, over and over again. And you know what sickens me? That I know, throughout this entire manhunt, as you’ve been looking for us, you’ve imagined yourself a knight in shining armor. We’re the bad guys, right, Jack? And you’re the good guy. In your ignorant mind, you’ve played no part of this. You’re not RESPONSIBLE for ANY of this, are you, JACK?!” 

Jack opened his mouth, and rage was as evident in his voice as it had been in Will’s. 

“ENOUGH! You think I don’t know that I’ve fucked up? You think I don’t know that I did this to you, that I let you down? It kills me, Will. It goddamn eats me up to know that I drove you into the arms of that fucking snake-”

“Don’t you dare. That ‘fucking snake’ is the only person in this barren wasteland of a world that cares about me, the only person that loves me, the only fucking soul who will protect-”

“I love you, Daddy!”

Will spun around so quickly that Jack’s finger tensed against the trigger on instinct. Jack followed Will’s gaze towards the back of the room and watched as the little girl from the dining room table tiptoed out from around a tall shelf.

“Aurora, no! Stay back there, honey, please-”

“Honey? Did you just call that child ‘honey’?!” 

Will refocused his gaze on Jack, his eyes blazing. 

“This is what you are taking me away from. My husband. This little girl. This home, and my dog. You’re going to take my life away from me AGAIN, Jack. Over and over and over again…” 

Jack swallowed, his throat tight. He was acutely aware of hot tears squeezing their way out of his eyes, rolling languidly down his cheeks.

He thought about Bella. The crinkle of her smile. The sound of her laugh.

“Will, I’m sorry, you know I have to. I...I can’t keep going, knowing what the two of you are doing, and if you’re still alive, either of you, there’s always that chance, isn't there? WHAT CHOICE DO I HAVE, WILL? I didn’t force you to become a killer, but I played a part in your...becoming, and for that, I'm responsible, and every ounce of fucking blood on your hands is mine, too, and there can't be any more blood, Will, THERE CAN'T BE." Jack's eyes revealed the manic storm of overwhelming guilt, betrayal, rage, and fucking sadness that enveloped him as he spoke. The gun, which Jack had lowered slightly, began to shake in his hand.

Will took a step backward. 

Jack drew in a deep, rattling breath, and his voice came out rough and tight. 

"I’m so sorry. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorrysorrysorrysorry...”

Jack raised the gun and aimed for Will's heart.

*

After the man apologized, the room got very loud and Aurora clambered back into her book shelf. She stuck her fingers into her ears and tried to count to 100, in English, the way her Papa had taught her the day before. She was interrupted three times; the gun went off at number twenty three, there was a very loud THUD and yelling at number thirty, and the loud BANG of the gun made her jump again at number forty-five. 

She couldn’t remember what came after number seventy-nine, so she unplugged her ears and listened. All she could hear was her Daddy wheezing in a way that sounded really, really scary. 

Brave, he had said to her. She knew what that word meant, and she could be that. Brave.

Aurora crawled off of the shelf and peeked around the corner, back into the room. She couldn’t see anybody over Papa’s desk, so she inched her way into the room again, as she had before, when she had to let her Daddy know that Papa wasn’t the only one in the world who loved him.

She looked at the scene in front of her, and for a minute, she was really scared and worried, because there was a lot of blood, and it was all over Daddy. She crept closer to the three men in the room. 

The man was lying on the floor, on his back. Papa was draped over him, breathing really heavy. One of Papa’s legs looked very hurt and was very bloody below his knee, but otherwise, he seemed to be okay. Papa’s hand was curled around the man’s hand, which was curled around his gun, which was lying, now quiet, on the man’s chest. 

Aurora kept walking until she was standing in front of Daddy, who was kneeling on his knees on the floor next to Papa and the man. There was blood all over him, like he had taken a shower in it. There were little hard white pieces and squishy looking grey pieces on his shirt, and she could tell that he was crying because the tears left clean lines on his cheeks as they fell. It seemed like he was wheezing because he was scared and crying, and not because he was hurt. 

Aurora looked at the man. He wasn’t moving, and there was a dark hole underneath his chin that was bleeding a little. The top of his head was bleeding, a lot, and he looked really, really hurt. She was startled to see that he wasn’t breathing, until she remembered something important.

Aurora walked up to Daddy, and threw her hands around his neck in a hug. He gripped her back tightly, and his body was shaking very hard, and he was still crying. 

She put her mouth to his ear, and whispered. 

“It’s okay, Daddy. He was just a ghost, remember?”


	23. All's Fair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final chapter before the epilogue, which will be smutty, fluffy, and hopefully a bit surprising yet satisfying. I should have the epilogue published by the end of next week. 
> 
> I can't believe it's nearly over. 
> 
> Thank you, so very much, to everybody who took the time to read this fic. This is the first time that I've shared my writing, and I could not have picked a better fandom with which to share this experience. Every comment and kudos has meant so much to me and has been beyond encouraging. 
> 
> From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading.

“Don’t try to find me.

I know that some of you will ignore that request, and I wish you damn wouldn’t. The world is a lonely place when you’re married to your work, as I have been for too long. My wife is gone, and I have lost so many over the last decade that it’s just not worth it anymore. What does it matter if I’m an agent if I can’t catch what I chase? I came here following a hunch and whispers of information, and what have I found? Not a goddamn thing, that’s what. Chasing ghosts has made me realize that maybe I’m not cut out for this work anymore. I’m not completely sure which ghosts brought me out here; Bella? Lecter? Graham? Katz? Maybe all of them. What I do know is that I haven’t found anything here, and there is nothing waiting for me in Baltimore. I’m not a young asshole anymore; rather, I have become a lonely and old asshole, and it's not enough. The job isn’t enough, the pay isn’t enough. Life just isn’t enough.

So, if you’re someone who would try to hunt me down despite these very fucking blatant instructions not to do just that (Price, Zeller, I’m talking to you), I ask that you reconsider. I want to travel, to see more of what the world has to offer. I need my life to be more than obsessing over lost collars and lost love. Maybe I’ll go to Italy; I have friends there, and good memories, unlike Baltimore. I trust you guys to respect me enough to let me have this time to myself. To see what life really is about, because it’s not just about catching killers and sleepless nights. 

It’s been an honor working alongside all of you. I would apologize for my sudden resignation, but I can’t find it in me to do so. 

Life is too damn short.

Jack”

*

Will made sure that he left Jack’s hotel room as quickly as possible after sending the e-mail to all Bureau employees in Jack’s contacts from the laptop sitting atop a small, lame plastic desk. Bundled and keeping his head low, holding his arms tightly to his sides in an attempt to keep the items that he had removed from Jack’s room hidden within his heavy coat, Will half walked, half jogged the quarter mile to where he had parked the car. He was gracious for the fact that Jack had picked a dump of a hotel, just outside of the city limits; no security, no cameras. Jack had been carrying his room key card with him in his wallet, which made Will’s entrance, sweep, and exit quiet and smooth. He had even remembered to wipe any prints off of the key card before leaving it on top of the bare desk before he left. 

Once he arrived back home, the sun was already low in the sky and the chill in the air caused him to shiver during his short walk from the car into the house. Not pausing to take off his jacket, Will poked his head into Aurora’s bedroom, where he found her playing with a barbie doll and a monster truck in the middle of the room.

“You okay, little one?”

Aurora’s head snapped up. She grinned when she met Will’s gaze, and he couldn’t help but to smile back. 

“Oui, Daddy! Papa is sleeping. I’m being soft.”

“Quiet, Aurora. You’re being quiet. And thank you, that’s very good of you. I’m going to see Papa for a little while, and then I’ll make dinner.”

Aurora screwed up her nose in confusion. “But, Papa makes dinner!”

Will held back a chuckle. “Yes, he does. But Papa has to rest his leg, honey. I promise I’ll make something good.”

Aurora considered for a moment before nodding her approval and turning back to her toys. Will heard her practicing the word ‘quiet’ under her breath as he walked down the hallway to he and Hannibal’s bedroom 

Hannibal, though in pajamas and in fact laying in bed, wasn’t asleep. Rather, he was reading a book by the light of his bedside lamp, which he bookmarked and set aside on the nightstand as Will closed the door behind himself. 

“Did you find anything incriminating?” 

Will snorted at Hannibal’s forwardness. 

“It’s nice to see you too, dear. And as a matter of fact, I found all kinds of goodies. But first, let’s see your leg.”

Hannibal went to task rolling up his pant leg as Will started emptying his jacket. He tossed Jack’s laptop and the notes that he had found in Jack’s car onto the end of the bed. These items created a small pile that also held Jack’s wallet and cell phone, which Will had taken from his body prior to burning him in a pit in the backyard and covering what remained with dirt and grass. 

Will shuddered at the thought. He had disposed of Jack two days ago, a mere hour or so after his death. Though the smell of fire and burning flesh was long gone, Will had been avoiding the backyard since then, his nose having held onto the memory of acrid and smoky scents in the air. He knew that he was still in a state of shock over the entire ordeal; that was the only way that he knew how to keep himself sane enough to do what needed to be done, to ensure the continued safety of his family. 

Will snapped back to attention when Hannibal made a pained sound. Quickly dropping his jacket to the floor now that it was emptied, he walked around the bed to Hannibal’s side. He didn’t miss the exasperated expression on Hannibal’s face at the action. 

“Calm down, I’ll pick it up in a second. Christ, you’re healing from a gunshot wound, another one I may point out, you’ve got to stop getting shot, and you’re worried about the coat on the floor? Jesus, Hannibal, I’m starting to think you’re a bit demented.”

Will’s teasing didn’t get a smile out of Hannibal, but his face became softer, less exasperated. Will felt successful as he leaned over to get a better look at Hannibal’s wound.

The damage was far less extensive as it could have been, had Jack’s shot hit bone. Instead, the shot had been a clean through and through, entering and exiting the meat of Hannibal’s muscle, just to the left of his bone beneath his knee. Despite Will’s pleading, Hannibal had refused to seek medical attention due to the suspicion that would arise, so they decided that they could take care of it on their own. Hannibal was confident that once the wound healed and the soreness ebbed, that he should have very little trouble walking normally, if any at all. 

It wasn’t good enough for Will, not really, but it would have to be, wouldn’t it?

“You’re lucky that I’m practically an expert on bullet-wound home care,” Will muttered, unwrapping the gauze from Hannibal’s leg. Ever the good patient as well as expert doctor, Hannibal remained still through the cleaning and re-bandaging process.

“Hopefully, this will be the last time you’ll have to use your expertise,” Hannibal said lightly as Will pulled his pant leg back down a few minutes later. Hannibal motioned for Will to come to him, and Will leaned down, lightly brushing Hannibal’s lips with his own before moving away to begin the process of going through Jack’s things. 

Though it was only for a moment, the contact of their lips was electric, as it always seemed to be. Will was flooded with emotions, some wonderful and others aching, coming from both himseld and Hannibal. Will couldn’t help but to think that if Hannibal had not interrupted Jack’s initial attempt at shooting him, that he would likely be dead himself. That if Hannibal hadn’t gotten Jack to the floor, hadn’t struggled with the gun, hadn’t pulled the trigger when he had…

Will had to push the shots away. There was a pit of despair deep inside of him, hollowed out by the circumstances of Jack’s death, but he knew that it was the only acceptable end result.

The sacrifice was painfully great, but his family was safe.

Shaking his head as a way to physically clear his mind, Will slumped onto the foot of the bed, reached over, and started reading Jack’s notes. 

*

“Fucking Bedelia.” 

Hannibal’s eyebrows rose at the vehemence in Will’s voice. “I’m assuming there’s a reason for the anger, Will, that has nothing to do with your old feelings of jealousy.”

It wasn’t a question, however, Will felt inclined to respond as though it were. “Yeah, Hannibal, there’s a reason. Jack has three voicemails from her, feeding him information about your time in Italy together, your patterns and your ‘European hobbies,’ as she called them. She was trying to help him get to us. She was obviously fucking successful.”

Will was shocked to find that Hannibal’s face paled at his words. 

“Hey, what is it? What did she know?”

Hannibal, it seemed, was unable to meet Will’s eye. “I..I made a mistake. I’m sorry, I...the opera. When we took the girl...Bedelia accompanied me to the same opera, when it was in Florence. She must have…” Hannibal’s voice trailed off, the words unnecessary. 

Will couldn’t keep a bitter bark of laughter from escaping. “Well. So, basically, we were made and Jack’s dead because you double-dipped out of your date playbook?” 

Hannibal, looking wounded and mildly ashamed, opened his mouth to reply and was interrupted by a soft knock at the door. Hannibal quickly decided to give his attention to that matter, rather than trying to explain himself to his irritated partner.

“Please, come in, mon agneau.”

Aurora opened the door slowly and popped herself into the bedroom with thrumming, healthy energy. The sight of her, bright and strong, caused a sweet ache to work it’s way around Hannibal’s heart. 

“I’m hungry, Daddy. Dinner?”

Hannibal looked over at Will expectantly. “Dinner does sound marvelous. Do you require assistance?”

Will snorted. “Just because I brought home sandwiches for dinner last night doesn’t mean I can’t fix dinner for my family tonight, thank you. Besides,” he said, turning his (delightfully not-irritated) gaze onto Hannibal, “I had an excellent cooking teacher. And I have an assistant, right Aurora?” 

Her eyes grew wide. “Yes! I can help!”

Hannibal followed them out of the room with warm eyes and a full heart.

*

“Move over, baby. I brought you dinner.”

Enough time had passed to have made Hannibal concerned that Will had burned the kitchen down, and he had just been getting ready to yell down to them when Will had entered the room with two plates in his hands and silverware gleaming from his jean pockets. Settling the plates delicately on the bed, Will gathered Jack’s belongings and piled them on a chair in the corner before returning his attention to Hannibal, who sat with a pile of papers on his lap. 

“Working, I see. Anything good?”

Hannibal rolled Will’s question around in his head, interpreting it with multiple meanings, before responding. 

“Actually, Will, I found something quite...damning, as you might say.”

Will paused from adjusting himself and the dining wear in the bed, and sucked in a sharp breath. 

“Okay. Lay it on me.”

Hannibal did no such thing, at least not verbally. Instead, he passed Will two pieces of paper, folded together. He watching Will unfold them slowly, and decipher their mugshots, which had been folded behind a copy of their invoice from the furniture store that they had visited months prior. The silence was thick in the air for a beat, before Will’s dejected voice shattered it’s fragile state. 

“Shit.” 

Hannibal hummed in agreement. 

“We’re going to have to leave.”

It was a statement. Hannibal responded with an additional hum. When Will remained silent, Hannibal turned to observe his body language, and was only mildly surprised to see tears silently slipping down his cheeks. 

“It will be alright, Will. I know you love this home, as I do, but it is just a skeleton, and we are it’s heart. Our home goes where we go, and we make it wherever we land.”

Will nodded, not bothering to wipe away the evidence of his disappointment. “I know that. I know that what’s important is that we’re together.” He turned to face Hannibal, sharply. “We will all still be together, right? Aurora…”

“Goes where we go, Will. Always where we go. Now, let me worry about the logistics of our move, and let us enjoy what you have prepared for us. It smells exquisite.” Will passed Hannibal his own plate, which he propped on a pillow laid over his lap. Hannibal inhaled deeply, discerning the spices in what appeared to be a delightfully seasoned and simple pasta with red sauce. He eyed the small chunks of meat carefully, trying to match them to the small amount of human flesh that remained in their cooler. He couldn’t determine the protein in the dish. He looked at Will, expectantly. 

“I hope it’s okay. Aurora helped me with the spices, but as soon as she saw the red meat she demanded chicken tenders and peas, so of course I caved. That’s what took me so long, I fed her up and put her to bed. Out like a light, last time I checked.” Will met Hannibal’s eyes, and drew in a breath. 

“It’s...before I burned him, I took a small piece of it. His heart. Jack’s heart.” 

Hannibal’s own muscle beat rapidly in his chest. 

Will licked his lips and continued in a rush. “I didn’t know if you would be angry. I don’t know about your rules, I don’t know what your opinion is on eating...friends.”

Hannibal tried to convey warmth in his response. “I think it is a good thing to do, darling. Consuming flesh does not always have to be a matter of purging, or forgiveness, or appreciation. It is a way to honor him. Is that how you mean it?”

Will nodded, slowly. 

“He wasn’t a bad man, Hannibal. He was driven, and successful, sometimes at the expense of others. He was a bastard who wanted to rid the world of evil, even if he didn’t make the best choices all the time. But he was my friend, wasn’t he? In his eyes, he cared for me. And at one point, he was yours as well, your friend. He cared about you, tried to protect you. We didn’t deserve him, and he didn’t deserve this.” Will’s voice was strained with emotion. 

Hannibal allowed Will a few heartbeats of silence before speaking softly. “You’re right. He was a friend in the way that he knew how to be a friend, before he was a threat. Let’s think of that Jack, shall we?”

Will nodded, giving Hannibal a soft smile. Both men took a moment to find a piece of the tender muscle in their dishes, to spear Jack’s heart one last time. 

Will spoke first. 

“To absent friends.”

Jack. Abigail. Beverly. Bella. Their faces flashed behind Will's eyes. 

Hannibal closed his eyes, licked his lips.

“To Jack.”

They finished their meal in silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mon agneau= My lamb
> 
> A huge thank you to Seeliah for helping me identify the correct term of endearment!


	24. Epilogue

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Will, it’s time for din-”

Hannibal stopped abruptly, unable to find his voice as he took in the sight before his eyes. Dinner forgotten, he couldn’t stop himself from leaning against the doorway to the bedroom; his control over his body, it seemed, was lacking. 

Only Will Graham could make him forget about the meat at the dinner table. 

Even after all of their years together, the large and vast expanse of time that they had traveled and continued to travel, a fully clothed and smiling Will Graham could squeeze the air from Hannibal’s lungs and send pinpricks of anticipation over his flesh, in waves. Alas, laying before him was not a fully clothed, smiling Will Graham. 

Laying before him, atop the ornate comforter on the bed within the foreign bedroom in this grand house in the middle of Fucking-Nowhere, Connecticut, was a brilliantly naked Will Graham, his brow furrowed in sweaty concentration. Hannibal could practically feel the blood in his body pooling in his groin, hardening him quickly as he watched his companion spreading himself open with three long, glistening fingers. 

Will didn’t meet Hannibal’s gaze, or even make an effort to open his eyes. Instead, he bit his lip and moaned into the quiet bedroom, and that was all it took to spur Hannibal into action. He was dimly aware that he had torn off at least two buttons in the haste to remove his shirt, but couldn’t bring himself to care.

The moment Hannibal crawled into the bed, Will slipped his hand out of his ass and grabbed Hannibal roughly, using Hannibal’s bun to pull Hannibal down onto the mattress, onto his back. 

“It’s not fair,” Hannibal breathed, letting out a huff of air at the feel of Will’s mouth on his cock, “that you get to enjoy my luxurious locks and leave me no way to reciprocate.” The vibration of Will’s laughter sent shock waves through Hannibal’s body, and he couldn’t help but smile through his pleasure. 

It had been a point of contention between them a few weeks earlier, when Hannibal had walked in on Will and Aurora in the bathroom, Will’s long brown hair covering the floor, Aurora wielding hair clippers and a shit-eating grin. Their hair had grown to nearly identical lengths over the years, the three of them; Will and Hannibal’s nearly reaching the middle of their backs, Aurora’s hanging closer to her hips. Hannibal had, against his better judgement, gasped in surprised at the sight of Will, hair more closely shorn than he had ever seen before. 

Not that Will wasn’t attractive with clipped hair. It just gave him an unfair advantage in bed.

A surge of hot pleasure brought Hannibal back into the moment and he pulled Will’s head off of his rock-hard and wet erection. 

“You finish me like this, baby, and your efforts to prepare yourself for me will have been for naught.” 

Will grinned and shuddered simultaneously at the pet name, but heeded Hannibal’s warning nonetheless by crawling up Hannibal’s body, straddling him firmly, and aligning Hannibal’s dick with his open and wanting hole.

“Who says I didn’t just want a good finger fucking, love?” Will whispered, locking eyes with Hannibal as he lowered himself, agonizingly slow. Both men groaned when their bodies met, Hannibal fully seated inside Will. There was a moment of gentleness, a moment of exchanging tender glances and whispered sweetness; an acknowledgement of how far they’d come and promises to keep going. 

When that moment ended, Hannibal snapped his hips violently, and Will verbalized his pleasure, uninhibited and uncaring towards anybody who could hear his cries. 

Will was the most beautiful like this, Hannibal thought, quickening his thrusts into a hard, painful pace. Looming over him, body writhing and hot like a live wire, wanting his lover to pleasure him with pain until he forgot that he was Will, until he forgot that he was anything but Hannibal’s. Will was the most beautiful, Hannibal concluded as Will’s come shot onto his belly and chest, when Hannibal was apart of him. When they were one merciless and ever-connected Monster.

Hannibal’s own climax took him by surprise, and as he was want to do when they fucked in that particular position, Will ground himself onto Hannibal’s pulsing cock and undulated his hips. After nearly six years of intimate and animalistic sex, Will knew exactly how to turn Hannibal Lecter, Monstrous Cannibal, into a whimpering puddle of bliss. 

It was Will who whimpered as he withdrew Hannibal from his body, careful to avoid his lover’s softening dick as he draped himself over the older man. 

They lay there for a stretch of calm and still minutes, unhurried and unperturbed, until Will’s phone buzzed on dresser across the room.

“Calm down, William…” Hannibal murmured, startled out of his peaceful state by Will’s lightning fast hurtle off of the bed. “You know she’s fine.”

“Yes, yes, I know, but..we’re so far away and it’s been a day already, Hannibal.” Will spoke as he focused on opening the message on his phone. Once successful, his face went from being anxiety-ridden to a look of illuminating relief. Broadly grinning, Will walked to the bed and handed the phone to Hannibal. 

Hannibal chuckled a bit himself as he took in the picture on the screen, of Aurora and her best friend Beatriz wearing huge sunglasses and sticking their tongues out at the camera. The sun was setting over the horizon behind them, both girls’ hair stuck to their foreheads with sweat.

“I’m glad our daughter makes good friends with good families. I don’t think I would have trusted anybody else to care for her overnight.”

Will considered Hannibal’s statement, nodding absently. 

“They’re good people. Brazil has been good to us over the last few years. Aurora has flourished since we left London.”

Hannibal sighed. He had quite enjoyed their large flat in London, but he couldn’t argue with the fact that living in the sunlight of Brazil for the last two years had bronzed Will’s skin in a very appealing way. Aside from that, keeping their killing hobby a secret proved to be quite easy in Brazil, and they were able to partake in their indulgences often. 

“Our daughter is quite the talented photographer, I must say. Perhaps I should get her to show me how to take a selfie?”

Will snorted at Hannibal’s remark. “Don’t say selfie, Hannibal. It’s unbecoming of you.” He placed the phone back onto it’s rightful spot on the dresser. 

Hannibal feigned hurt. “Aurora uses the expression at least a dozen times a day. You’ve revealed a double standard.”

Will rolled his eyes, using a towel to wipe himself down his chest and between his legs. “Aurora’s nine, darling. She’s not a professional man in his mid-fifties, which, by the way, is not meant as a remind-” Will stopped shortly, walked towards the door, and stuck his head out into the hallway.

“I think she’s waking up, darling. Are you hungry? I could eat,”

Hannibal shrugged his agreement and rolled out of the bed to get dressed.

*

“Jesus, it smells incredible.”

Will pulled out Hannibal’s seat for him before sitting down at the dining room table himself. Hannibal smiled in response as he reached over to the middle of the table, wielding a carving blade and a three-tined serving fork. Hannibal felt a thick sense of satisfaction when he cut into the thigh; it was a perfect cook, and the juices ran, pink and luminescent with a light tinge of oil. The color of the meat stood out starkly against the dining ware, and the glorious aesthetic washed over Hannibal like the swell of music. 

“I feel like we should toast. Do you feel like we should toast?”

Will smiled at the look that Hannibal gave him in response; it was a mixture of amusement and barely-concealed degradation. 

“What? Come on. It’s our anniversary, we’re on vacation without the kid, and it’s the first time that we’ve been on American soil in over half a decade. Besides, we’re about to purge the world of a substantial, meddling sore, wouldn’t you agree?”

Hannibal’s lips quirked into a small smile, and he raised his wine glass into the air, giving Will an expectant look.

Will felt victorious. After all this time, he was still surprised that he could have any power over the beast sat next to him. He raised his own glass and cleared his throat.

“To a decade of chasing and being chased. Hunting, and being hunted. To a decade of self-discovery, and disabling sacrifice and loss. To a life of carnal joy, beautiful black blood in the moonlight, and all of the pleasure and fucked up madness that the world has to offer. To the snake in the grass, and the mongoose stalking, always nearby. To you, the breaker of my chains and the enabler of my passions, to our daughter, the fruit of this earth and the queen of my heart. And to Watson! The chewer of your expensive leather shoes and the warmth at the end of the bed.”

Will grinned then, white and wide, and locked onto Hannibal’s eyes.

“To love, death, and good food.”

Hannibal returned his smile, and thought for a moment before declaring his toast. 

“To our design.”

They clinked their wine glasses together lightly, an air of easy happiness and satisfaction settling in around them. 

At the other end of the table, Bedelia opened her mouth in a silent scream.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's over. 
> 
> I feel profoundly unable to express the true extent of my gratitude to the overwhelmingly positive reaction to this fic. 
> 
> Thank you, for every comment and every kudos. Thank you for reading this story; though largely self-indulgent, I feel a small amount of bitter-sweet closure with these two characters in this universe. Thank you, for sharing this experience with me. 
> 
> If you liked what you read, please do share! I would appreciate it greatly :)
> 
> Also, feel free to follow me on tumblr: http://lizabethl.tumblr.com/


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